#I will probably edit and ao3 it at a later date

[celestial-toys]

*crawls out of my isolation cave. slaps a 10 thousand word document on the ground. passes out.*

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[crljhnn]

Maybe It's Enough

Pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!Reader

Summary: Robin thinks you don't like her back, so she encourages Steve to take you out on a date. You think Robin doesn't like you back, so you agree to let Steve take you out on a date.

No use of y/n; lesbian reader

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: slight hints of / implied homophobia

[also posted on AO3]

The first time you actively realized that you were different was when you were 12.

You were lying on your bedroom floor, surrounded by your friends, looking through a magazine targeted towards young teenage girls.

You vividly remember your friends going on and on, gushing about the male actors and musicians featured in the newest edition, who were striking suggestive poses while smirking directly at the camera. You, on the other hand, only felt weak in the knees if the article displayed their girlfriends or female co-stars as well.

You grew up pretty sheltered, so it wasn't until a few nights later that you found out that women who were attracted to other women existed.

You were sneaking down the stairs to get yourself a bottle of water when you overheard your mother gossiping on the phone about a church friend's daughter, who was spending an awful amount of time with that new girl, Susan. Apparently, there have been rumors that she has been bringing shame upon her family and disgracing the church for quite a while.

Hearing the disgust in your mother's voice awoke a discomfort within you about your own emotions. You found yourself going back and forth between entertaining your suspicions and reassuring yourself that you simply hadn't met the right guy yet (that's at least what your older sister told you when you confided in her).

This maybe, maybe not spiel ended when you met Robin in your shared math class during your freshman year. She was somewhat angsty and awkward, and you were instantly in love. You didn't manage to muster up the courage to speak to her during that school year, though.

In your sophomore year, you were almost sure that Robin was gay. You caught her looking dreamingly at a little too many female classmates, a little too often. Also, from what you heard, she never had a boyfriend or openly expressed interest in any of the boys.

At the end of junior year, you were almost certain that Robin was into you. The staring was now reserved solely for you, and she constantly sat close, but never directly next to you. She also always started that cute nervous ramble when you tried to talk to her, and then always found a way to prematurely end the conversation.

"Sorry, I think I left my water bottle in the cafeteria. Bye!"

When you found out that Robin started working at Scoobs, you were tempted to go and visit her; this way, she was forced to talk to you. You nearly chickened out in the parking lot and had to hype yourself up for nearly half an hour just to be met with Steve "the Hair" Harrington when you got up to the counter.

You took that as a sign not to show up at Scoops again. Plus, now that you thought about it, what were you even supposed to talk about? The ice cream flavor?

That's why you were thankful when she started at the local video store. Movies were definitely something you could talk about for hours.

It wasn't as easy as you thought, though. Every time you came by, she was either busy organizing a section on the complete opposite end of the store or she was in the back. When you tried talking to her, she would always redirect you to Steve.

"I'm kind of busy right now, but I'm sure Steve can help you with whatever movie you are looking for. He is right over there."

Always rushed and always without looking at you.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Robin actually despised you, and you completely misinterpreted her behavior. She probably thought you were some kind of stalker, keen on disrupting her at work.

---

"I swear she likes you, dingus! She is here all the time." Robin has been trying to convince Steve that you were head over heels in love with him for the last 10 minutes.

He was exasperated, standing in his typical mom stance with one hand on his hip. "She does not! Family Video is like the only video store anywhere close; that's why she comes here a lot."

"Well, she came to Scoops as well, when we were still working there!"

Steve probably doesn't even remember you showing up at their old job, but Robin does. She remembers how pretty you looked, how your outfit complimented your figure, and how your hair perfectly framed your face. She remembers it being a lot more nerve-racking than seeing you in school. This was a new environment, a whole new situation. She couldn't look at you from a desk behind you, hiding behind a book, if you decided to glance in her direction.

Before she was able to properly think about it, she had already headed to the back, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Wow, now I can't deny it anymore! It's not like half of Hawkins has been there at least once, and by your logic, she could be into you as well."

Robin wishes, with every cell in her body, that even the slightest glimmer of truth could lie in this statement. But it's not true. It couldn't be. And she has to remind herself of that. That way, it won't hurt as much when you end up with Steve or some other boy.

"Then why does she only ever talk to you, huh?"

"Because you run to the back as soon as she gets anywhere close to you!"

"And I'm doing both of you a favor. She comes here to talk to you and then gets too nervous to actually pull through with it. That's why she comes up to me."

"I think you are overthinking it."

And Robin definitely is, but at this point, she had already talked herself way too far into it.

"Trust me. I'm a girl. I should know stuff like that better than you."

"Yeah, 'cause you know so well what it's like to crush on a guy?"

"No, but I know what it's like to be a girl with a crush. Just ask her out."

Please don't.

"You sure?"

No

"Yes."

So that's exactly what Steve did.

---

The next time you visit the store, he makes sure to put on his especially charming smile, being right by your side as soon as you enter. He goes the full nine yards. Compliments your eyes, your outfit, carries the movies you picked out to the counter. After he finishes the process of checking them out, he is ready to make his final move. With whatever he has left of the famous Harrington charm, he asks you if you'd like to go out with him this weekend.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm really busy, you know, with school and everything. Sorry."

Rejection.

Steve only takes a second to recover. Even though Robin was sure of your attraction to him, he was still kind of expecting this. Regardless, Steve feels the urge to explain himself.

"No, it's totally fine. Really! I honestly wouldn't even have assumed that you were into me, but Robin was really insistent, so I thought I'd try my luck. No hard feelings."

"Robin told you to ask me out?"

"Yeah, why?"

That was the final nail in the coffin. Of course, she didn't like you. Why else would she try to set you up with her best friend? All the "signs" you saw were probably spun up by your imagination, caused by wishful thinking. Your own feelings must have clouded your judgment. You're embarrassed and sad. Maybe it is stupid and naive to expect to find a girl in a small town like Hawkins who is not only your type and assumably gay but also likes you back.

Maybe you should go on a date with Steve.

He really seemed like a changed man. He was unarguably attractive, even you could admit that. He was kind and, most importantly, interested in you. Maybe that's enough.

Maybe you were also a tiny bit driven by selfishness. Maybe you wanted to make yourself feel a bit better about receiving the confirmation that the girl you had been pining for for years simply wasn't into you.

For a moment, you felt bad for Steve. It would be unfair to lead him on like that, but let's be honest. From what you heard, that guy goes on three dates a week. How likely is it that he would go into this date with the expectation of finding his one true love?

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I would actually really like to go out with you. I really am busy, you know, with all the exams coming up."

Lies, there was nothing to study for the next two weeks. The only plan you currently had for this weekend was to cry over Robin.

"But I am free the weekend after, if that works for you?" You played that off nicely, right?

It seemed like you did because Steve's face lit up.

„Great, if you give me your number, I could just call you to talk about the specifics.“

„Yeah sure.“

While you focus on writing down your number on the piece of paper Steve slips you, he turns around to give Robin a thumbs up. Even though she tried to look just as happy as he did, anyone paying even a little attention could have seen that she was not okay. Her face scrunched up in a painful smile. Fortunately for her, Steve was way too distracted by the euphoric feeling of scoring a date to recognize his best friend's torment.

---

"You know, I was skeptical at first because I never felt that romantic vibe with her. She never seemed interested in me in that way. But now I'm so happy I asked her out. Like, she's so effortlessly beautiful and funny, and she is also really smart, you know?"

Yeah, Robin knows. She knew all this about you better than anyone else. Steve didn't even know yet how beautiful, funny, and smart you really are. But Robin had no doubt he was going to find out soon.

And she was going to die.

Okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic, but it will definitely feel like it.

"I could even imagine her being, like, the one, you know. I think what I've been doing wrong is going on dates with women I don't even know or with women who only know me from my "King Steve" days. They all have these weird expectations about how I'm supposed to act. But I got to know her over the last few months. And I know I'm actually able to hold a conversation with her, one that's not about high school."

Robin feels like she is going to throw up. Steve acted like he always did when he was interested in a girl: idealizing her and already imagining their house with a white-picked fence and their six little nuggets. She knew she would get over it eventually, even if you actually ended up together, but your first real crush will always hold a special place, especially your first lesbian crush. And Steve just couldn't shut up.

"Do you have an idea where I could take her? We were talking on the phone last night, and she told me to just come up with something. I really don't want to mess this up right at the beginning by picking the wrong thing."

Robin never wished to be an attractive teenage boy as much as she did at that moment. She wanted late-night phone calls with you, and she wanted the trouble of not knowing where to take you on a date.

She had also thought about going on a date with you for years, so yes, she definitely had an idea.

For a second, she considered not telling Steve to be selfish and not letting him live out the fantasy that had been keeping her company for the last two years. This urge, however, was overpowered by her need to make you happy. That's what she wanted most—for you to be happy and have a good time. So she told Steve all about your favorite music genre and to watch out for any small bands giving concerts somewhat close.

---

Meanwhile, you were still grieving this whole Robin disaster. How the hell did your regular visits to the video store, intending to talk to Robin, score you a date with her best friend?

Yet, you found yourself genuinely looking forward to your plans with Steve. His idea of driving a few towns over where a small band you never heard of, though the flyer suggested that the music would fit your taste to a T, was giving one of their first concerts, which was actually the most fun date you could imagine.

Even if you didn't like him romantically, you would still have a good time. And you thought it was admirable that he would plan something that fits your taste so well. Now that you think about it, you don't remember ever discussing your music taste or your fable for small underground bands with him. You don't know how he knew; perhaps you mentioned it casually, or maybe it was just a lucky guess.

---

Steve turns up at 5 p.m. sharp. He is standing in front of your door, with a bouquet of flowers, in an outfit you know he will stand out in at the rather shady bar the band is playing at.

The one-hour-long drive ends up being surprisingly entertaining, and for the first time in your life, you kind of wish to be straight. You often wished to not be gay, to "be normal," or to fit in, but never before did you specifically wish to be into men. But right now, you do. Because Steve is kind and charming and attentive and funny while also being insanely attractive, and you just wish you could fall for him. Because you know that would be the easiest thing to do if you were into men.

But you are not.

And now you are driving back home, and you are sitting next to Steve in his car while he rants about how positively surprised he was by the band and how they are definitely one of his favorites now, and you just feel bad. He clearly had a good time, and he hinted at his interest in you and a second date multiple times over the evening. You just know that you have to come clean.

After your sister's reaction, you never considered coming out to anyone in Hawkins again, well, except Robin, but definitely not to "King Steve." You honestly don't even know why, but somehow you really want to tell him. Perhaps you're driven by guilt; after all, you had a great time, and the thought of rejecting him with a shitty excuse feels wrong. Moreover, continuing to lead him on would be worse.

Steve turned out to be a decent guy, right? You dearly hope that you are not making a horrible, irreversible mistake by coming out to him.

"I really had a good time tonight."

"Yeah? Me too. I was thinking we could repeat this, whe-"

His enthusiasm about going out with you again made you feel sick.

"Steve"

His face falls when he detects your tone, realizing you are about to reject him.

"Oh."

"Look, I really had a great time, and you are a great guy, but I'm actually not into boys. I'm sorry."

That's it. You put your cards on the table, full vulnerability. There is no way to misunderstand what you just said.

Or so you thought.

"I understand. You want a man, someone who will be able to take care of you. Not some boy who didn't even get into college. I know my future isn't looking the best right now. I'm probably gonna be stuck working in a video store for minimum wage till I retire. But-"

"No, Steve, what? What I was trying to say was that I'm a lesbian. I like girls. I'm sorry for leading you on."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"But why did you agree to go on a date with me then?"

Did you really want to tell him the whole truth? If you told him about your crush, you have no doubt that it would reach the girl of your affection herself, and you really didn't need that. However, being so open about something you hardly ever told anyone, and him not reacting outright badly, kind of made you want to tell him about your feelings for his coworker as well. You already told him your biggest secret; what's one more?

"When you said that Robin told you to ask me out... man, this is so embarrassing to say out loud. I just kind of like her, like really like her, and her encouraging you to date me kind of made it clear that she does not feel the same. And I just thought, I don't know, the rejection kind of stung, and feeling wanted, especially by someone like you, felt kind of nice. I didn't think it would go as well as it did, considering your dating history. Sorry, was that mean? You know what I'm trying to say. But you are great, and now I feel shitty, not just for being indirectly rejected but also for using you as a distraction and ego push. I'm sorry."

You're too scared to look at Steve. Completely focused on looking anywhere but him while your brain keeps listing reasons why you are a horrible person.

At the same time, Steve's thoughts are running a thousand miles per hour. He's disappointed, sure. He likes you and, until a second ago, really hoped to build a relationship with you. Now, however, more present was the goal of setting you up with Robin. This was perfect. All her rants about never finding another gay person in Hawkins he had to listen to, and now he not only found someone who was gay, he found someone who already liked his best friend. Or you found him.

Now the question emerged: What's the best way to go about this? His first instinct was to tell you to just ask Robin out, but by doing that, he was basically outing her, so maybe not the best idea. Additionally, he didn't even know if Robin liked you back. That's it. Before he does anything, he should try to find out if your feelings are reciprocated. Or if Robin is at least interested in getting to know you romantically.

With this plan in mind, he first assures you that he has absolutely no problem with gay people, even if he is a bit clumsy at finding the right words to express it, and then drops you off at home. He is about to have a long night, planning to figure out the best way to unsuspiciously find out if Robin likes you back and how to hype you up in case she isn't sure yet.

---

The next day, he shows up at Family Video, ready to put his plan into action. Robin, however, is dreading to come in today. She doesn't know how she will last a whole day with Steve telling her how perfect the two of you are for each other and how well your date went. She just knows you two had a great time. If she hadn't been certain already, she would have reached the conclusion at the very latest when Steve basically came skipping into work, smiling with giddy excitement.

For the first three hours, Robin is surprisingly successful at dodging Steve's attempts at conversation. However, her luck runs out when he decides that both of them will have an early lunch break since it is a pretty slow day and there is really nothing to do. She can hardly say no to that, at least not without awaking suspicions. So after Steve does a quick food run and picks up some baked goods from a nearby bakery, the two sit down next to each other, each with a fresh pastry in front of them. That's when Steve sees his chance at being your hypeman.

"... and you know, I feel that's something not a lot of people do, like it's rare you find someone like that. And she is also just a great listener, like she does not only listen; she actually hears what you say. You know what I mean?"

This is hell. No, Robin bets hell is a whole lot nicer than this. It has to be. Nothing could be as awful as your best friend going on a ten-minute monologue about how perfect your crush is and what a great time they had on their date.

"So what do you think? You've known her for a while; do you think she's cool?"

"Yeah, she is. I'm glad your date went so well, and I think it's great you found someone. I'm really happy for you. So when are you going out again?"

Wait.

That is not what Steve was trying to achieve. Stop! Abort mission!

"Oh, we are not going out again."

Robin nearly chokes on her croissant. Eyes wide, coughing, she nearly spits out what she didn't manage to force down her throat.

"What do you mean you won't go out again? You literally just went on a ten-minute rant about how great she is!"

"Yeah, she is. But she's not interested in me. She already likes someone else."

Robin doesn't understand how her best friend can be so nonchalant about this. He seems absolutely unfazed, talking to her as if the reality that the most perfect girl does not like him back is the most basic fact, that he has absolutely no negative feelings about. Did he recently become extremely good at acting? There is no way he was able to hide his feelings so well.

"Steve, I am so sorr-"

"No, it's fine. Really, I'm okay. I actually wouldn't be affected at all if she started seeing this person. Like, I'd be really happy for both of them. No negative feelings on my part at all."

Okay, now he was acting weird. And why would you say yes to the date in the first place, if you already had your eyes on someone else? So she asks him about it.

"She believes her crush doesn't like her back, so she thought there was no harm in going on a date with me. But she is definitely not interested in me in the slightest!"

"Well, that's bullshit. Who wouldn't like her? I mean, she is everything! She is smart, pretty, compassionate, and talented. She is the full package. There is no way anyone would say no to her. I thin-"

Steve stops comprehending what she says after that, too occupied with his own thoughts. How could he have been so oblivious? The hiding in the back? The constant redirection to him? Her inability to speak to you? She wasn't giving you the opportunity to talk to him; she was too nervous to talk to you herself. Robin had a big fat crush on you, and it was so obvious now that he was paying attention.

Steve's ecstatic. Now all that was left to do was set you two up.

---

This was easier said than done. For a few days, he tried and tried to come up with a way to get you two together without telling either one about the other's feelings. However, this was nearly impossible with how much you two insisted on avoiding each other, each dealing with their own heartbreak, still believing their feelings weren't reciprocated.

At some point, the frustration became too overwhelming, and he reached the conclusion that he was going to have to out at least one of you to the other. His first thought is to just put you two in a room, drop the bomb, and then leave you to it. Steve decides against this, fearing you would both be too awkward to move forward from this.

He contemplates who could handle the situation better and decides that telling you is probably the right choice. Happy with the prospect of finally freeing himself of this burden, he gives you a quick call, informing you of his need for a conversation, and then makes his way over.

---

"Why did you have to tell me? Why couldn't you tell Robin? Now I have to make the move, and I'm probably gonna embarrass myself soo bad!"

After getting over the shock that Robin reciprocated your feelings (at least to Steve's suspicions), you relatively quickly became frantic, mad that he put you in a position where you had to be the one to act. Why couldn't he tell her? After all, is she his best friend? And he knows that you like her, for sure. Even though he swears to be sure about Robin's feelings as well, he never actually heard her admit it out loud.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I have the perfect, foolproof plan."

"Ew, don't say that word."

"What? Plan?"

"Shut up. So what's your great plan?"

The relationship between you and Harrington has gotten a lot more casual and familiar since your "date." You never expected it, but you are really glad to call him a close friend now.

"Okay, listen up. You're going to come to Family Video tomorrow, bring some takeout, or better prepare some food yourself, and tell Robin you and I made plans to have lunch together."

"Wait, I thought you had the day off tomorrow?"

"I have. So you are going to be all disappointed, having prepared all that food for nothing. So you will offer to share with her instead. It's the only logical thing. You wouldn't want to waste the food."

"That's the worst plan I've ever heard. That's so lame, Steven!"

"Don't call me Steven. And it's brilliant! You will get a nice romantic date without making it look like you're doing too much."

You're still not convinced, but you don't have a better idea, so you agree.

---

"Hi, Robin!"

"Oh, hi, hello, what's up?" What the fuck? Get yourself together. "What are you doing here?" Robin has been paranoid since Steve voiced his suspicion about her feelings for you. If completely oblivious Steve could see it, could you too?

"Is Steve here? We have plans for lunch." You demonstratively hold up the two lunch boxes you brought.

You spent hours yesterday racking your brain about what to prepare. What would Robin enjoy the most? What can you cook without messing it up, especially if you're this nervous? All while you also considered what you could eat without embarrassing yourself. You don't want to sit there and have half the contents of your burger fall all over your hands. Or get food stuck between your teeth without noticing. And what could you transport over without ruining it in the process? Would the food stay warm for long enough? Or should you pick a meal that is served at room temperature? In the end, you called Steve and cooked the first thing he suggested, following his advice not to overthink it.

"Steve is not scheduled for today."

"Oh."

"That's so typical, this dingus. I'll call him; give me a minute."

"It's fine. Would you maybe like to share? My lunch break will be over till he gets here. I mean, I already cooked and brought the food. If you don't have any other plans, we could share it. Unless you don't want to. That would be fine as well. I don't-"

"I want to."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, nice. Let me just set up."

"Oh, of course, I'll show you the break room. Follow me."

The awkwardness dies quickly. Talking to Robin with the knowledge that she likes you back makes you a lot more relaxed around her. There aren't any weird periods of silence, and you feel a warmth and connection you never felt before.

With that, you finally work up the courage to ask her out. After years of pining, you are really about to do it.

"I wanted to ask you something, and it is totally okay if you say no. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. If you don't want to, we can just forget that I ever asked, so-"

"Just spit it out. Rambling is my thing, and you are not allowed to steal that." Robin tries to lighten the mood and take away from your clear nervousness.

"Would you like to go out with me sometime? Like, on a date."

"But Steve said- WAIT! I am the one you like?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"So?"

"I would really like to go out with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

[michavs]

FLASH DRIVE

TSUKISHIMA x Fem!Reader

Summary: A photography enthusiast forgets their flash drive at the lab, filled with photos they shouldn't have taken. Tsukishima Kei finds it and threatens to expose them unless they agree to pretend to be in a relationship. Over time, their fake feelings turn real. (Also please help to support my AO3, ty <3)

Tags: Tsukishima x fem!reader, slight Sugawara x reader, fake dating

Warnings: Reader being a stalker, language, blackmailing, grammatical mistakes probably

Click. The sound of your camera went off as you captured a photo of your awesome senior, Sugawara-san, playing soccer on the field in front of your class. You had been admiring him since your first day at this school, he was your mentor for student orientation.

“Cute.” you murmur while looking at the photo you captured, your heart fluttering at the sight of Sugawara’s smile frozen in time.

“You’re such a stalker, you’ll be in a big trouble if you get caught, you know.” your friend Yachi says, smirking at you as she nudges your shoulder playfully. You roll your eyes and gave her a defiant grin. “I don’t care.” you reply, shifting your position to get a better angle to shoot Sugawara-san again. The excitement of capturing the perfect shot makes your pulse quicken.

“Hey, help me out at the volleyball club at 5 PM. Kiyoko-san is absent today.” Yachi says, munching on her food with an air of nonchalance. “Yeah, sure. I’ll study in the lab while waiting.” you respond, your mind already wandering to the photos you’ll edit later.

Later, in the quiet of the lab, you sit ready with your computer. The intention to study is overshadowed by the thrill of transferring your photos. You connect your flash drive, your fingers trembling slightly as you gaze at Sugawara’s handsome face on the screen. Each click brings a new wave of admiration.

“All done!” you say excitedly, your voice echoing softly in the silent room. You pack up your things with a satisfied smile, already anticipating the next opportunity to photograph him. You get up from the lab chair, your steps light as you head to the volleyball court with your bag and camera in hand. Little do you know, in your excitement, you’ve forgotten to turn off the computer and your flash drive is still connected to it. The oversight, unnoticed in your eagerness, sets the stage for the unexpected events to come.

“Yachi, am I late?” you ask, your breath slightly ragged from rushing to the court. “Nope, we’re still waiting for the others.” she replies, glancing up from her attendance sheet. You scan for Sugawara-san’s face among the tall volleyball players, your heart beating faster with anticipation.

“There he is,” you murmur, eyes sparkling upon spotting Sugawara-san next to Daichi-san. Your pulse quickens, and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Hinata… here, Kageyama… here, Tsukishima… eh, where’s Tsukishima?” Yachi asks, her voice echoing in the gym as everyone shakes their heads.

“Tsukishima, the blonde guy with glasses, right? He was studying in the lab earlier,” you say, recalling the fleeting glimpse of him before. The door swings open, and Tsukishima strides in, his tall figure and blond hair unmistakable. “I’m here, sorry I’m late,” he says, placing his bag and headphones aside before joining the practice. Practice begins, and everyone immerses themselves in their activities. You sit on the sidelines, leaning against the wall, eyes drawn to Sugawara-san's every move. He’s graceful and focused, a natural leader on the court.

Suddenly, a loud thud catches your attention. BRUKKK You look over to see Tsukishima sprawled on the ground. Your heart skips a beat as everyone rushes to surround him, their concern palpable.

“I’m fine, no need to worry.” he reassures, brushing off their concerns and returning to the game. Your eyes follow him, noticing an item that has fallen from his pocket and landed right in front of you. A flash drive, identical to yours. You pick it up, frowning. “Hmm weird, it feels just like mine.” you mutter, rubbing the flash drive. Then you see it, a label with your name on it.

‘(Y/N) GRADE 10-C’

OH. MY. GOD. Panic sets in as you remember what you’d done before coming here. Your heart races, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. You forgot to take out the flash drive, and you left your computer on. Crap, what if he saw the files?

Great, now your life is over.

After practice, you gather your courage and approach Tsukishima. “Hey, can we talk for a second?” you call out, your voice trembling slightly. He’s walking with his friend, Tadashi, but they stop and turn to face you.

“Can’t you just say it here?” he replies curtly, with that annoying look on his face. You pull the flash drive he dropped from your pocket. “Oh, that. Do you know whose it is? Looks like they forgot to take it,” Tsukishima responds, a sly grin on his face.

“It’s mine, idiot. My name is literally right there,” you snap back, your frustration bubbling over. He whispers something to his friend, which you can’t hear. Tadashi gives you a sympathetic look before leaving, leaving you alone with Tsukishima.

“So, you’re the little stalker, huh?” he smirks, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“It’s for the photography club assignment, nothing else,” you retort, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, really? Then what’s with the folder named ‘Pretty Boy, Suga-san’?” he teases, stepping closer until only a few centimeters separate you. You glare up at him, your height disadvantage making you feel even more vulnerable. “Let me see the flash drive.” he demands. You show it to him, but he suddenly snatches it and holds it above his head.

“Hey, give it back!” you cry, jumping to reach it.

In an unfortunate twist, you trip over Tsukishima’s foot. Luckily, he isn’t weak, so neither of you falls completely. You crash into his chest, and he catches your left hand while still holding the flash drive. His other hand steadies your waist. “Wow wow, watch it.” he complains, his voice softer, letting go of you.

“Well, give me back my flash drive then.” you demand, straightening your uniform and glaring at him.

“I will, but do me a favor first.”

“Huh, why are you so demanding.” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“Well, if you won’t do it, say goodbye to your image then Ms. Stalker.” he threatens, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“No. Please don’t share it, I’ll do anything you want.” you sob, your eyes starting to water. Panicking, you grab Tsukishima's shoulders, pleading desperately. “Wow, chill. I didn’t know you’d freak out like this,” he chuckles, gently prying your hands off his shoulders. “Let’s go on a date for a month.” he adds, his tone flat.

“Stop joking,” you shoot back, annoyed and desperate.

“I’m not joking. If you don’t want to, then whatever,” he shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. You roll your eyes at his smug expression. “Fine, it’s a deal then.”

“Yeah, it’s a deal. See you tomorrow, Ms. Girlfriend.” he says, giving you a wink before walking away, leaving you standing there, trying to process everything that had just happened.

“Damn it, please tell me this is just a dream.” you mutter to yourself, hoping for an escape from this surreal situation.

──────────────────

Weeks has been passed, you and Tsukishima grow closer, and what started as a fake relationship begins to feel real. You start to notice the little things about him – the way he listens intently when you talk, his subtle acts of kindness, and his rare, genuine smiles. As the month of your fake dating arrangement nears its end, you and Tsukishima walk home together after his volleyball practice for what you believe might be the last time. . The streets are quiet, the sky painted with the warm hues of the setting sun. You feel a mix of relief and sadness, knowing that this bizarre yet strangely comforting chapter of your life is about to close.

The silence between you stretches, comfortable yet tinged with an unspoken tension. You steal glances at Tsukishima, wondering if he feels the same way. As you reach a familiar corner, you slow your pace, reluctant to let this moment end. Tsukishima seems to notice, his steps matching yours until you both come to a stop. He turns to face you, his usual cool eyes softened by an unusual intensity in his eyes.

“(Y/N).” he starts, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

“Yeah?” you respond, trying to keep your voice casual despite the fluttering in your chest. He takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “This month… it was supposed to be just a favor, right? A fake relationship to help me out,” You nod, unsure where he’s going with this but afraid to hope.

“But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake for me,” he admits, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know we agreed to end this after a month, but… I don’t want it to end.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What are you saying, Tsukishima?”

“I’m saying that I like you, (Y/N). Not just for this month, not just for the sake of our arrangement. I genuinely like you,” he confesses, his voice earnest and a bit vulnerable. “And I want us to be real.” You stare at him, trying to process his words. The cold, aloof Tsukishima is looking at you with a raw honesty that you’ve never seen before.

“Tsukishima…” you whisper.

“Kei.” he corrects softly.

Your own feelings bubbling to the surface. “I like you too. I’ve liked you for a while now, but I was afraid to say anything because I thought it was just part of the deal.” He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. “It’s not part of any deal. I want to be with you, for real.”

You smile, tears of relief and joy welling up in your eyes. “I want that too, Kei.” With a small, relieved smile, Tsukishima leans in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. It’s gentle and sweet, filled with the promise of something real and lasting.

As you pull away, you both smile at each other, the tension of the past month melting away.

“Ah right here, you’ve fulfilled your end of the deal” he says and hands back your glash drive. You take it, “Thanks.” you reply softly with a small giggles.

He looks at you for a moment before speaking again. “Since I’m your boyfriend now, you should delete those Sugawara-san’s photos, okay?” he says.

“I’ll delete them, i guess.” you reply, looking at him playfully. He chuckles, a rare, genuine laugh. “Yeah yeah, now let’s go home.”

“Mhm, let’s go home, Kei.” you agree, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. Walking hand in hand, you both head home, knowing that this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

From that moment on, your relationship with Kei blossoms. The teasing and banter continue, but now it’s filled with affection and understanding. You find comfort in his presence, and he becomes your rock, always there to support you. Your friends notice the change, and they’re happy for you both. Even Tadashi, who has always been supportive, gives you a thumbs-up and a wink.

© MICHAVS 2024, please do not translate or repost my fics without my permission.

[lautski-week]

Lautski Nation, we are so back!

(Q&A + general info under cut!)

Welcome to the third semiannual Lautski week. This event occurs twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter, to commemorate the shared love so many of us have for Hatchetfield High's most unlikely it couple! Mod is @peterstankoffski and uses they/them pronouns, and you've probably seen me lurking around the lautski tag since it was created. It's been a lovely little 2.5 years getting to enjoy this ship with everyone.

This year the summer event will be in July instead of May so everyone who is interested has plenty of time to prepare. I understand now through June is fairly bust for many people due to finals, so moving it later into the summer was definitely for the best (thank you to everyone who voted in the dates tiebreaker poll the other day!)

And with that, some FAQ!

Q: What are alternates?

A: Alternates are two extra prompts in case one of them leaves you stumped! They can be used any day, or they can not be used at all! It’s up to each individual participant!

Q: Do I have to do all seven days?

A: You’re free to do as many as you want! You can do all seven, you can do just a few, hell, you could do all nine in you wanted! This isn’t a challenge, it’s an event. The main goal is to make some posts about this ship we’re all brainrotting for and having fun.

Q: What can I make?

A: Anything you want! Art, fics, edits, memes, etc. Nothing’s off the table.

Q: How do I post?

A: I’ll reblog anything made for the event to this blog and my main. If you’d like to be featured, please @ THIS blog. Additionally, I’d recommend tagging works with #lautski week so everyone’s works can all be found in the same place.

Q: I was late! Can I still post?

A: Of course! I’ll keep reblogging new posts tagged #lautski week and/or mention this blog through July 17!

Q: Can I post to AO3, then link it back here?

A: Feel free! This year I will also be setting up a Lautski Week collection, which I will link on the blog closer to time. Feel free to use it!

Q: Can I post to (insert any other fanfic site here) then link it back here?

A: Same as AO3. Go ahead!

Q: One of my wips fits *insert prompt here!* Can I post it for that day?

A: You can, but please don’t post before the event begins!

Q: Am I allowed to write smut?

A: Yes, but please have it properly tagged on both tumblr and AO3. On this blog, I will use the additional tag "smut warning"

That's it for now! I'll reblog this occasionally between now and July, plus advertising and answering any additional questions, but other than that, enjoy the rest of your spring (if you're in the Northern Hemisphere anyway)! See you all again soon 💜

[dollysilena]

TRAINING WHEELS

CHAPTER THREE | BABY ON BOARD

ao3 | series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

five years ago, you stupidly had a fling with inarizaki athlete, miya atsumu– now, present day– he had a son he knew nothing about. you made sure it was going to stay that way, but as fate would have it, he unexpectedly stumbled back into your lives, now as volleyball’s biggest star.

wc & notes: 3.5k — this chapter was originally going to be 7k+ words, but for my own sanity during editing i decided to split it in two different chapters instead! i also thought it would be easier to read in separate chapters instead of just one really condensed one so pls forgive me 🗿

The past twelve hours had been a whirlwind for Miya Atsumu.

His day started late, but not out of his own fault! He swore it. It was just because his alarm clock didn’t go off. At least that’s what he told Coach Foster when he walked into practice late with a Starbucks frappuccino. But hey, at least he got one for everyone right? The team nutritionist yelled at him later for it because sugar wasn’t on the regiment, especially with the V-League season so soon. Hinata gladly slurped down the drink though, which consequently sent him into a sugar rush later. And once that happened, their coach chewed out Atsumu for the ginger’s erratic playing. It seemed like the scolding was neverending, but he shook it off as practice continued. He thought that the rest of the day was going to go on without any more hitches, up until he got a call from his brother. 

“She’s here right now with a kid. He’s four years old, and I don’t think the fact he looks like ya is a coincidence.”

The air stilled, and despite the clamor and ruckus of the gym around him, all Atsumu heard was the ringing in his ears and the silence on Osamu’s end. A kid?

There was no way. Osamu was just messing with him, right? It was just a prank, Suna or one of their friends probably put him up to it. There’s no way that… that he actually… He thought of you, something his mind hadn’t crossed paths with in awhile. You were just a girl who left him high and dry five years ago… without a word. He wanted to tell himself he wasn’t convinced, but something lurching in his stomach told him otherwise.

The denial didn’t stop Atsumu from abruptly running out of practice. He would deal with what the coaches had to say later.

FIVE YEARS AGO — INARIZAKI HIGH SCHOOL

“What’s up with ya?” Atsumu questioned, slumping down on the seat infront of your desk as he faced yours. “Yer acting funny, ya sick or something?”

Atsumu couldn’t care less about the fact he was bothering you in the middle of class, all he could think about is how weird you’ve been acting with him. He thought things were going good with you over the past few weeks, maybe a little too good considering you both… He shook it off. You’ve been acting odd all week, suddenly barely sparing him a glance. Despite the fact you both weren’t dating, he had to admit it was bugging him more than it should’ve.

“What makes you say that?” You responded, almost defensively. You didn’t look up from your math worksheet, and to anyone else, it would just look like you were focused on your work, but Atsumu knew you were distracted, you hadn’t moved from the same problem for over ten minutes. 

“Well, ya barely have been talking to me this week first of all,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And not to mention one of your friends told me you went home early yesterday because of food poisoning.” He didn’t mean to reveal that he had been asking around about you, but you didn’t seem to linger on it.

You fiddled with the pencil on your desk, clearly avoiding his eyes. “Why does it matter to you? It’s none of your business, Miya.”

Miya? Harsh.

“And here I thought ya liked me!” Atsumu replied, melodramatically clutching his chest as if he were wounded, albeit, his ego was admittedly a little bruised. “Of course what my girl does matters to me.”

You couldn’t help yourself from cracking a smile, and Atsumu considered it a victory. 

“We’re not even dating, we met a couple weeks ago,” you replied, shaking your head. 

Atsumu rolled his eyes. Though, you were right, you had never made anything official. It was all just harmless fun, right? 

“That didn’t seem to matter when we–”

“Be quiet!” you hissed in embarrassment. Atsumu smirked when he noticed how flustered you got. When you realized Atsumu wasn’t going to let up, you gave him another sigh. 

“I think I’m just not feeling well, probably a stomach bug or something.”

“Blegh!” Atsumu replied, sticking out his tongue. “Well don’t give it to me!”

You bore a small grin at him. Atsumu smiled back, happy that he was at least able to make you feel a little better that day.

He didn’t think that would be the last time he ever saw you.

He was going to walk you home that day and he even considered finally formally asking you out. Granted, he probably should have done that before the… bathroom incident, but he digressed. He went to your classroom later only to find your desk empty. Your classmates already said you left and he shrugged it off. He would just wait until the next day.

Then you were absent the next day, and the day after.

 It wasn’t until a whole week had passed where he felt himself starting to get worried.

You weren’t answering his texts, and after awhile, they didn’t even deliver anymore. He thought things were going well, at least to him they were… Whatever, he wasn’t going to let it get to him. If you didn’t want to talk to him anymore, so be it, it wasn’t his problem. People walked out on him all the time. He repeated it like a mantra, whatever, whatever, whatever.

But it doesn’t stop him from thinking.

As the days progressed, he felt himself plunging deeper into his doubtful thoughts.  You weren’t avoiding him on purpose were you? He didn’t realize how much it was getting to him until he missed practically every set during practice because he was too busy thinking of your smile at him instead of where Osamu’s hand was. He was tired of it, he finally decided he wasn’t going to wait for you to show up. He would get the answers himself.

Afterschool, he followed the trek to your house and stirred silently. Why was he even bothered this much about some girl he barely knew? You weren’t the first girl he was with, and he didn’t plan for you to be the last. So why was it bothering him so much? He wasn’t sure why, but it crept up his spine like a chill. 

Miya Atsumu isn’t someone you can leave, he’s always made sure of it. He’s never the one left behind. He doesn’t want to be. 

He stood on your doorstep, deliberating with himself if it was even worth it. But he didn’t come all this way for nothing. Even if you told him to get lost, atleast it would put an end to his endless lamenting. It would be better than having you plague him like a damn fever. He knocked.

He doesn’t expect your mother to answer.

“What do ya mean she moved?” Atsumu asked in disbelief.

“She’s gone to live with her grandmother in Kagawa,” your mother stated firmly. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing her anytime soon.”

Before Atsumu could pry for any other details, your mother spoke again.

“Don’t ever come back to this house.”

Then the door was slammed in his face.

PRESENT DAY

Despite his best attempts at staying in denial, he realized that all the signs were there. You were getting sick, avoiding him, your sudden disappearance. He should have known something was wrong when your mother forbade him from coming back without a reason. His mind was a flurry as he rushed through the streets of Osaka. The little voice in the back of his head that was saying it was impossible was getting flooded out, it was entirely too possible. 

In his rush inside Onigiri Miya, he was met with a body crashing into him. He looked down to see a horrified face infront of him, it’s yours. And in your arms, an unassuming boy that looked indisputably like him. A moment passed, as if the world stopped spinning on its axis. The panic seemed to be flooding out of your body and into the room. His mouth felt dry and whatever was spinning through his mind was suddenly a standstill. His gaze followed back to the boy, and his heart lurched.

There was no doubt about it, he had a son.

Even if you hadn’t told him, Atsumu could instinctively already tell, something in his gut just knew. He shared his smile, his brown eyes, and even his naturally dark hair that swept in the same way Atsumu’s did when he was that age. There was a piece of him out there, and he didn’t know all these years.

He barely choked out, “could we talk?”

While you both spoke at the table together, and as he gazed at Haru playing with Osamu and your friend not far away, he found himself wondering so many questions. What had Haru looked like when he was a baby? What was he like? Was he more energetic and lively like him? Or more quiet and reserved like his brother was? Was anyone there to help you through the pregnancy? What were his first words? Did he ever ask about him once he was old enough to understand what a father was?

“Atsumu, you realize what you’re asking right? You’re agreeing to be a father, which you just found out right now of all things. It’s a commitment, no take backsies.”

He knew he should’ve weighed the circumstances more, you were right after all, it was a commitment, a life-long one. Not to mention he barely found out an hour ago. Did he even know how to be a father? Infact, Atsumu hadn’t even considered kids in his life yet. He thought he had a long time before he thought he ever had to make that decision.

He thought about Haru, and how for years, he didn’t grow up with a father. His jaw hardened. Four years was too long for him to be absent. He couldn’t just… walk out. When he looked at Haru, he couldn’t possibly think of going on with living his life while knowing his son was out there. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

After your talk and once the situation was settled, atleast as much as it could be, Atsumu had offered to walk you home for the night. You decided to opt out of the company party you were attending for obvious reasons, and Naomi made sure to pass the news on to your boss about a “family emergency”.

 Now there he was, walking down the streets with his ex highschool fling, and his child. Whoever said life worked in unexpected ways, he wasn’t quite imagining this.

You both walked in silence, with Haru in your arms as he slept soundly. Atsumu wasn’t sure what to say, or if he even wanted to break the silence, so he kept quiet. Throughout the walk, he found himself stealing glances at you, and it felt as if he were meeting you all over again. You obviously weren’t the same girl he knew all those years ago. You held yourself up with a maturity he felt like he couldn’t match. Unlike him, sometimes he still felt like the clumsy kid he was in highschool. Maturity was something he always seemed to lack. His friends and brother always made sure to remind him of that whenever he behaved so. 

He looked down at Haru, still fast asleep. He imagined it was well past his bedtime now. You stifled a yawn as you carried the small boy, the tiredness seemed to be contagious. He saw your shoulders beginning to sag, and Atsumu realized you had been carrying him for the better portion of the walk.

“Here, let me take him,” he offered. “You’re tired.”

You looked up at him, with a raised eyebrow. “Have you held a kid before?”

He felt himself pause. Had he held a kid before? There were a few times at family reunions where he held the children of distant family members but that had all been for mere seconds before another family member scooped them up. He remembered how his mom was able to hold him and his brother at once for hours on end, how hard could it be?

“No, but I want to try seeing as I have one now.”

You laughed and extended Haru out to Atsumu, who gently took the boy as if he were made of porcelain. Haru shifted in his sleep, but comfortably adjusted into the setter’s arms.

He heard your laugh beside him and he immediately stiffened up. Had he done something wrong?

“He’s not a volleyball,” you chuckled, “hold him up from here.” You went to adjust Atsumu’s position and pushed up his arm so Haru’s weight could rest on it. He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, apparently it was harder than he thought.

“Good,” you replied, patting his arm, and he had to stop himself from blushing when he felt your fingers brushing his arm. “Now just keep him there.”

Atsumu nodded as you continued your walk. It’s then that the thought hit him—when he was finally holding Haru in his arms—that he's his. 

His arms instinctively held Haru tighter. No, he couldn’t be doubtful now. There was too much on the line and too much time lost. Unlike the past four years, he swore that he would be there from now on, no matter what.

You both rounded the corner before you got to your apartment complex, a smaller building in the quieter part of the city. You both had lived here all this time, and he didn’t know. Had he ever walked down this street unknowingly?

“This is us,” you stated, gesturing to the building. He felt himself trying to come up with something to say, but nothing came out. He just knew he didn’t want the night to end, there was still so much he had to know.

“Would you like to come in for a bit? I have some pictures of Haru I could show you.” You asked, and it was like you read his mind.

“I would like that.”

He followed you inside and into the elevator where you led him to your apartment. You flicked on the lights and Atsumu glanced around. He looked around and saw Haru’s toys laying about, pictures of the two of you framed around the home, he even spotted Haru’s homework still strewn out on the coffee table. You both crept inside, careful to be quiet as to not wake Haru. You led him down a hallway and opened a door to what he presumed was Haru’s room, and ushered him inside. 

Atsumu carried the boy inside his room, and looked around. He saw his drawings framed along the walls, toys, stuffed animals, and noticed a volleyball near his toy trunk. He made a mental note to ask Haru about that later. He padded over to the bed, and set him down so he was laying. You came up beside him, and tucked the covers over him before kissing his forehead. 

He realized this was the first time he was putting his son to sleep. Was this what having a family was like?

You both quietly exited the room, making sure to close Haru’s door so he wasn’t disturbed by you both outside.

“I can make us some tea,” you said, as he nodded. He didn’t even really like tea, he was just glad he could stay. He followed you to the kitchen, where he took a seat at the kitchen island while you put the kettle on the stove.

“Is it just ya two here?” He asked, looking around. You had some pictures framed up, as well as some photographs hung on the fridge which he could see. But from what he could tell, it was only you, Haru, and sometimes Naomi in the photos.

“Yup,” you responded, pulling out two mugs from the cabinet above you. “Since Haru was born, really.”

Atsumu felt his heart in his stomach. “Even when ya were pregnant?”

Atsumu saw you still, and he hoped he didn’t open an old wound. He scolded himself for not being more sensitive, and letting his own curiosity get the better of him. 

“When I told my parents, they kicked me out,” you stated bluntly, putting the tea bags in the cups. “They sent me to live with my grandmother, who was amazingly supportive, but she died before Haru was born, so since then it was just us.”

Atsumu was silent, he wasn't sure what to say. I’m sorry? I’m sorry that I wasn’t there? But that wasn’t enough, it didn’t change what you had to go through. The thought of you being in that delivery room by yourself only added onto the guilt on his shoulders, and his heart sank even further when he realized you had to do everything else alone too.

“Atleast Haru’s birth was quick!” You joked, a smile beaming on your face. Despite all that, you were still… positive? Atsumu was in disbelief, he probably couldn’t go through a fraction of what you had and still manage to put on a brave front. He always got into a mood, as Osamu called it, even at the smallest of inconveniences. You pushed a cup of tea towards him which he took graciously.

“Yer amazing,” he said in awe.

“It’s just tea,” you laughed, blowing on your cup. Atsumu shook his head.

“No,” he responded. “For everything. For what ya had to go through, and what you’ve done for Haru. And at eighteen? Osamu was still packing my lunches when I was that age.”

You laughed in response and it made his cheeks warm. He liked the sound, he thought.

“Let me get those photo albums I was talking about,” you said before walking into another room. You came back a few minutes later holding a few photo books.

 “Do you wanna start with the first one?” You asked, holding one out.

Atsumu eagerly nodded as he took the dusty blue album, decorated with ribbons and stickers. He could tell you had decorated it yourself. It showcased a picture of you holding a newborn Haru in the hospital. The picture almost made Atsumu frown, knowing you were by yourself that day, but he ended up smiling seeing how proudly you beamed holding the baby. He opened the book and inspected inside.

There was a sonogram of each phase Haru was in during your pregnancy, and eventually a few photos of Haru being born in the hospital. He saw the tiny notes you wrote besides the pictures, and his mouth grew agape when he saw 3.68kg written next one of Haru’s pictures.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, noticing his expression. “He was a big baby, I guess since his dad’s a pro athlete and everything.”

His face grew more horrified and he almost wanted to apologize. He apologize to his mom too considering she had twins. Then another picture caught his attention.

 “Hey, what’s this one?” He asked, pointing to another photo.

He pointed towards a picture that looked somewhat recent, he could tell since Haru seemed to be almost the same age in the picture as he was now. It was of you in a graduation cap and gown holding up Haru proudly who looked like he was cheering. It definitely wasn’t your high school graduation since Haru was in it.

“Oh, that’s when I graduated from university last year.”

“Ya completed university?” Atsumu asked in astonishment.

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Pretty proud of myself. I was working two jobs and had to take night classes for a couple years but I ended up getting my degree finally a few months ago, then I got a great job at the firm I’m at now.”

No, you’re not just amazing, you’re phenomenal.

The rest of the night was filled with you and Atsumu looking over Haru’s pictures, some of his favorites being Haru’s second birthday where he had cake painted across his face from where he tried to eat his birthday cake face-first, his first day of preschool (which he found out he started this year), and one of you and Haru at a festival with matching daifuku in hand. He made a mental note to take you both when he saw how brightly you both smiled. Whenever he wasn’t looking at the photos, he was paying attention to you. He was getting to know you again.

“It’s getting late,” you yawned. “I have work tomorrow, and I probably have to explain why I missed the party tonight.”

Atsumu groaned. “That reminds me, I have to explain to my coaches tomorrow why I ran out of practice, they probably won’t believe me though.”

You giggled, before sliding out the picture of Haru’s second birthday from the book. “Maybe you can use this as proof.”

Atsumu took the photo and smiled warmly in the picture in his hands. The picture would find a well-loved home in his wallet, but would later be replaced with a picture of the three of you adorning matching jerseys on Haru’s eighth birthday at one of Atsumu’s games.

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[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Roxy x Reader fic (hurt/comfort)

EDIT: A more polished version is now up on ao3. If you're re-reading it or sending it to someone, then the ao3 version is preferred, but it's not changed enough that I would necessarily suggest re-reading it again if you weren't already going to. <3

For some reason, last night, I decided that it was imperative I write and release a Roxy x Reader oneshot before Ruin. (ETA: To be clear I mean I wrote this before Ruin released, therefore it contains NO SPOILERS. <3) It's an idea I've had for awhile and was going to do as a comic but decided to expand it and write it out instead. I may post a more polished version to ao3 at a later date.

Fun fact: Roxy was my first FNAF crush, before SB even came out. So Ruin will have many chances to break my heart.

Word count: ~3200

----

When the Pizzaplex burned down, none of your colleagues had seemed particularly interested in returning to the ruins. You could understand…some of the techs arriving for the morning shift had been caught in the blaze, and while there were no casualties, there had been some injuries. Yourself included.

After a few weeks in the hospital, the burn mark across your face was just an angry red scar, and the singed hair you’d had to cut off had regrown enough for you to wear a slightly uneven pixie cut.

The other techs said you were crazy to want to go back. The future of Fazbear Inc was uncertain, and the animatronics themselves were just that. Animatronics. Machines. Not worth putting yourself in danger for.

But you’d come to consider Roxy a friend. Sometimes you thought she considered you one, too. She didn’t seem like she would readily admit such a thing even if it were true.

She had at least liked you as a tech, if not as a person. You were the only one who could do her pre-show checks and weekly maintenance without ruining her hair, at least according to her. According to the other techs, Roxanne’s hair was always fine.

You quickly learned that to Roxy, “fine” was equivalent to a reprehensible failure. A disaster. A complete horrific mess. 

You didn’t think your experience with costuming (specifically wigs) in your college’s theater club would ever be something you used after you graduated, but life is full of surprises.

You wander through the corridors of your ruined, burned out workplace, flashlight in hand. You have a few guesses as to where Roxy might be. You desperately hope she’s okay. The structure is mostly intact, but there are a few collapsed portions and fallen bits of decor. You think as long as Roxy had been able to avoid the worst of the heat, she’d be mostly alright.

You make your way to Rockstar Row, your workboots crunching on the debris as you walk.

As you approach Roxy’s room, you hear something that makes you freeze.

Crying.

For a moment you wonder if another tech, or perhaps some urban explorer or rubbernecker is in here with you. Then you recognize the voice behind the sobs.

Roxanne is crying? You’re more surprised than you probably should be. But you’d seen behind her mask a couple times. Behind the vanity, haughtiness, and borderline entitlement, you had occasionally glimpsed a profound insecurity. Beneath it all, you don’t think Roxy actually likes herself very much.

You swipe your badge on the door, and it actually dings and slides open. Or tries to. Something jams it halfway and you have to wedge yourself into the doorframe and push the door open the rest of the way.

Roxy, who had been sitting at her vanity, head in her hands, perks up. Her ears twitch as she glances around. “Who’s there?” she calls out.

You open your mouth to speak, only to leave it hanging open in surprise as you see how badly she’s damaged. So much of her exoskeleton is missing, exposing the endoskeleton underneath. Her hair is a tangled, singed mess and her tail isn’t much better. But most horrifying, her eyes are completely gone.

“Who’s there?!” Roxy repeats, a growl in her voice as she stands up and starts stalking towards you. You can hear the servos and joints in her body creak in protest as she moves.

“R-Roxy, it’s me!” you say before hastily blurting out your name.

She stops, her ears twitching and her claws grasping at the air. At first you think she’s baring her teeth at you, but you quickly realize her broken faceplate has put one side of her mouth in a permanent snarl.

She huffs, turning away. She skulks back to her vanity, plopping down in her chair and burning her broken face in her shattered hands. “What do you want?” she mutters.

You tense, taken aback. “Wh-What do you think I want, Roxy?” you ask incredulously, slowly moving towards her. “I-I wanted to know you were okay. I wanted to help you. I was…terrified you’d…been destroyed,” you say quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She pulls away with a growl. “I have been destroyed! Just--Just look at me!” The rage in her voice doesn’t fully mask her despair, nor does it completely hide her fear. Fear of what? Of what could have happened? Of how close she came to being permanently deactivated?

Her command was clearly rhetorical, for she lowers her head further, digging her claws into what remains of her scalp.

“Roxy…all this can be fixed…” you say gently.

“No it can’t!” she snaps. “I already checked. Parts and Services is a pile of rubble now.”

“Well…what about the loading docks? Maybe we can at least find some new eyes for you…”

She scoffs. “Oh good. Then I can see myself. Because feeling all this isn’t bad enough,” she sneers, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Roxy--”

“FINE!” she growls, pushing back from her vanity abruptly. If the chair weren’t screwed into the floor she surely would have toppled it over. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

You flinch nervously, nodding. Remembering her blindness, you quickly say, “Okay. Here,” you say gently putting a hand on her arm.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, though she sounds somewhat less defensive and a bit…nervous? Embarrassed? With a huff, she adds, “I’ll just follow your footsteps.”

You bite back a sigh. “Alright,” you say patiently.

You lead the way out of her green room towards the long stairway down to the loading docks. You’re not about to risk trying to take the elevator.

“Here, careful on the stairs,” you say, gently taking her arm again. This time she allows it, albeit with some reluctance as she gives you what probably would have been a withering look if her faceplate had been intact.

It’s a long way down and neither of you want to rush. The sound of your softer footfalls and her heavier ones as you both pick your way down the stairs echoes through the stairwell.

Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk.

You watch her carefully. She seems too focused on making it down the stairs to be too sulky for the moment. Small blessings, you suppose. Still, the silence is only stretching out your descent.

“It sounds like one of your knees is out of alignment,” you say eventually.

“The left one,” she confirms a bit gruffly. “I can manage.”

“I can see that,” you say gently. “It took me awhile to notice something was even wrong. You carry yourself well,” you say, smiling a bit.

Roxy grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t preen even a little at the praise. That’s unusual for her…compliments usually cheer her up.

“Maybe I can find a new hinge while we’re--”

“Why are you doing this?” she cuts you off.

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, stopping in the middle of the flight of stairs.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean,” she says. Before you can speak, she continues, “This whole place is finished. Nobody’s coming back to rebuild. What’s the point of you patching me up?”

“I told you, Roxy…I was worried…” you start as you resume your climb down the stairs.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you!” you say, exasperated as you reach the bottom of the stairs. You keep your hand on her arm as you make your way down the corridor, and she doesn’t protest.

She snorts. “You care about a pile of scrap?”

You wish she could see the glare you give her at that. “You are NOT a pile of scrap! You’re just a little scuffed.”

“More than a little,” she huffs.

You sigh. “Okay, maybe a little more than a little,” you admit. You force a smile. “But hey…I’m the perfect tech, remember? If anyone can get you fixed up, it’s me, isn’t it?”

You weren’t normally any kind of braggart. Roxy had been the only one to ever call you the perfect tech, though you feel like that was almost more a point of pride for herself rather than for you. As if she were praising herself for being deserving of the best tech more than she’s praising you for being the best tech. But you still liked hearing it…and sometimes it really did seem like she was directing the praise at you.

Roxy turns her head towards you, her ears swiveling forward. It’s hard to read her expression with her broken faceplate, but eventually one side of her mouth ticks up into a small smile. “...Yeah…” she admits softly.

You squeeze her arm gently, careful to not touch any of the sharper broken off bits.

Once you get to the loading dock, you guide her to sit down on a crate while you look through some of the recent part shipments.

The fire had somehow spared much of this place, but the collapse of P & S had rippled partially through the area and several patches of ceiling had fallen, knocking over piles of crates and leaving the whole place in disarray.

Eventually you find a crate that has the P & S stamp on the wooden slats, and figure that’s a promising place to start. You grab a crowbar and begin trying to pry it open in any way you can.

Roxy’s ears perk and she turns towards you. “What are you doing?”

“Trying--urg--to get this crate open,” you grunt.

She stands and walks towards you. “Let me,” she says. She reaches towards you, trying to determine your position.

You take her hand, your fingers weaving in hers for a moment before you guide her hand to the crate.

“Thanks,” you say, stepping aside.

“Well…pretty silly to make a human do all the heavy lifting,” she says, digging her claws into one of the planks. The wood splinters and creaks and is readily ripped free.

You smile weakly. “You’re right…these arms would never have a fraction of your strength,” you say. Jokingly, you lift your arm and flex…only to realize Roxy won’t be able to see it.

Probably for the best. It was a dumb joke anyway.

She snorts, actually preening a bit as she pulls another board free. “Even busted…” she agrees softly. Her tone is slightly melancholy…as if she doesn’t fully believe it.

She pulls another board free, and you put a hand on her shoulder. “I think that’s enough for now,” you say, guiding her back to the crate she had been sitting on before.

You begin pulling the smaller boxes from the shipping crate, cutting them open and rummaging through them, looking for anything usable. 

Once again, the silence stretches on.

After finding nothing useful in the first two boxes, you glance back at Roxanne. Her hand is over her face, her middle finger slowly tracing the cracks near where her eyes had been. The quiet isn’t doing her any favors.

You shove the box you were looking through aside and pull out another, cutting it open. “Roxy?” you break the silence.

“Mm?” she grunts, still more focused on her faceplate than you.

“You…d’you um…remember that time we ran out of driver bots and that angry dad yelled at me?”

She pauses briefly, turning her head towards you. “What about it?” she asks before going back to feeling her faceplate.

“You remember what you said to me?”

“I called you an idiot.” Was that a touch of guilt you detect in her tone?

You laugh weakly, nodding. “Yes. But you remember why?”

“For letting a loser like that get under your skin,” she says plainly.

“Right,” you say, smiling. “I think about that a lot, you know.”

Roxy scoffs. “Really? Freddy said I was too rude,” she says. If she had eyes she would have rolled them.

You let out a gentle chuckle. “Well…maybe a bit,” you admit, earning a slightly sulky huff from her. “But there was truth to it, y’know? And I think about it a lot. It uh…it’s…helped me. Deal with people like him.”

She cants her head, one ear flicking curiously. It’s a cute expression even with her broken faceplate. “It…did?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling out another box and opening it. “I-I mean…you were right. I knew he was a loser but I still told myself his opinion meant something. But it doesn’t, y’know?”

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly.

The conversation lapses again, and you try to resist the urge to slow your search in order to come up with a new topic. Luckily, it is Roxy who picks the next topic.

“You remember that time a birthday party ran long, and I was late getting back to the recharge station?”

You freeze. Oh you do remember. You remember that evening well. The animatronics tend to get a little quirky when their battery dips below five percent. Something about a power save mode cutting power to random systems. Usually mobility, but somehow, their…inhibitions, for lack of a better term, also seemed to go by the wayside. As far as you know nobody ever quite understood why, but it was a little like getting loopy from lack of sleep, or even a bit tipsy.

Roxy smirks, hearing your stunned silence. “You do.”

“Y-Yeah…I…I wasn’t sure if you did, though.”

“I remember the important parts.” Before you can start to wonder what the “important parts” are in her mind, she continues, “You’d finally used that salon voucher I gave you for your birthday. Gotten your hair done. Actually wore it down. I never understand why you hide such long pretty hair up that bun.”

You fluster a bit. “Th-The dress code--”

“Oh, you do it without the dress code,” she scoffs, flicking a hand dismissively.

You clear your throat awkwardly, pausing to rub at your cheeks as if you can wipe the blush away. “W-What’s your battery at, by the way?”

She snorts. “Just an idle wondering?” she smirks. “It’s twenty-two percent.”

So it’s not her low battery talking…

Roxy continues, “You know…if you can find a set of replacement eyes…I wouldn’t mind seeing your hair down again,” she says, actually sounding wistful, of all things. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard her sound wistful.

You sigh softly, running a hand over your chopped off hair. “Y-Yeah…” you say, noncommittally.

She glances at you questioningly, sensing something in your tone. But before she can comment, you cut open another box, and find it has the spare eyes you’ve been looking for.

“Found the eyes!” you say. Some of the happiness in your tone is genuine. You grab two amber ones, going over to her. “They’re just standard optics, so you won’t see as well as you’re used to, but…it’ll do for now,” you say, guiding her to lay on the floor.

Her smile fades slightly and she nods, reality setting back in. Despite your claims that you could repair her, she wasn’t convinced she’d ever be as good as she was before. “Guess it’ll have to,” she mumbles.

You put a flashlight in her hand and position her arm to shine it down on her faceplate, giving you light to work with. Your toolkit is beside you, with some extra lengths of wire and soldering iron to work with. As you cut away the burned wires, murmuring apologies whenever Roxy flinches, your mind drifts back to that evening.

Her power had been at one percent when you finally coaxed her into her recharge station. Before you did, though, she had leaned down and pressed her lips to yours. You think she had been trying to nuzzle your cheek. Even “drunk” you don’t think she wanted to kiss you like that.

Neither of you had ever spoken of that night again, until today. She must not remember the kiss, you decide. She wouldn’t bring up that night at all if she did.

The truth is you’ve carried a small flame for her ever since then. Or perhaps a little longer, if you were more honest with yourself. Nothing you couldn’t ignore most of the time, of course…but something that had occasionally managed to put a bit of warmth in your heart when you allowed it to.

But none of those silly little what-ifs you’d allowed yourself to daydream of would ever come to pass now.

You wire in the eyes, then carefully fit them into their sockets. As they come online, the attached eyelids blink shut against the light.

You quickly turn away, keeping your back to her as you pack up your toolkit. “Th-They working okay?” you ask. It’s silly to turn away like this. You can’t possibly delay her seeing your scar for more than a couple minutes. Why even bother trying?

She moves the flashlight out of her eyes and sits up, looking around. “Yes,” she says. She pauses. “...Better than I thought. I forgot the standard optics still have night vision.”

You laugh weakly. “Another thing you have over me, then,” you say in what you had meant to be a good natured tone, but you couldn’t quite keep the melancholy from your voice.

Roxy catches it and glances at you curiously. She stands up, then reaches down a hand to help you up.

Well. No more putting it off.

You bow your head slightly as you turn to take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. When you stand before her, you finally lift your head to look into her eyes, giving a small, tentative smile that borders on apologetic.

Roxy stares down at you, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Wh-What…happened…?”

You sigh, glancing away slightly. “I-I…got to work early, and…I was upstairs when the fire started. It…spread so fast I…had to cut through some pretty bad areas. I-I mean. I guess, something like that…I-I don’t really remember…” you say, your voice starting to shake.

Roxy’s hand is on your cheek, turning your face back towards her as she examines your scar.

You feel your face growing warm. “I-I don’t know how I got the scar, really…The EMTs found me passed out in the employee parking lot.”

Roxy smiles sadly. “You were strong enough to save yourself.”

You blush deeply at the compliment, lowering your gaze. “I-I guess so…”

She runs her thumb over the scar, tracing the ridges of the shiny, discolored skin. “Can it be repaired?” she asks, her tone more gentle than you’ve ever heard from her.

You shake your head, resisting the urge to nuzzle into her palm as you do. “Not…really. My hair will grow back and the scar will probably fade a bit, eventually, but…it’ll…probably be pretty noticeable for the rest of my life…” You feel tears brimming at your eyes and force out a weak laugh. “C-Can’t really…uh…s-switch faceplates on a human…y-y’know?” you say in a wavering tone.

Roxy hums quietly, bringing her other hand up to cup your other cheek. “No need,” she says, lowering her head and gently nosing at your scar.

Your breath stills at her words, your eyes widening in surprise. You’re almost not sure you heard right.

She pulls back, smiling down at you tenderly. “You’re still beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours.

[pedroshotwifey]

Creampie

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: No use of Y/N, oral sex (M receiving), Reader is a menace, piv sex, Creampie?, rough sex, established relationship, Slight food play, what who said that? (Previously "Added Ingredient" on ao3)

Summary: You can't sleep so you decide to occupy yourself with a project in the kitchen. Ezra is quick to distract you ;)

A/N: Hello again! This is probably my least favorite work that I've done, but it was only the second ever published lol. I did go back and make some edits so that it sounds/flows better, though. Despite that, I will say that it's not complete trash so I would appreciate anybody who gives it a chance! I will be posting my all-time favorite work soon after this one, so keep on the lookout for that! Thanks for reading :)

***

You had been staring at the ceiling for a good hour and a half before you finally decided there was no use in trying to get back to sleep. The last time you looked at the clock, it had been 2:27 am and you have been wide awake since. 

You sigh quietly in frustration so as not to wake your partner as you throw your covers back and slide yourself out of bed. The sight of Ezra still sound asleep makes you smile softly in the dark room. 

It seems that the only time that he looks truly at peace is when he can close his eyes and let go of any thoughts that plague his mind in the daytime. When he is awake you can always see something in his eyes—no matter how much he tries to hide it. You still haven't been able to figure out what it may be, but you do know that whatever it is, it haunts him. 

When you first started dating, you had asked him often if he wanted to talk about it, and each time he would turn you down. He only told you a little bit, gave you the gist of how he lost his arm, how he ended up on your planet, just the small things. It's obviously a sensitive subject, but you can guess that he will confide in you eventually if you give it a rest.

Still, though, it's like taking a fresh breath when you are able to look at him without traces of worry decorating his perfect face. The only lines that grace his appearance as he sleeps are the crowfeet by his eyes and the thin, curved scar on his left cheek.

Quietly bending down, you place a gentle kiss over the faded wound and you swear you see the corners of his full lips tug up a little. It warms your heart to see how much he responds to your touch, even subconsciously.

Being careful not to wake him, you stand up straight and reach for one of his faded t-shirts, pulling it over your bare torso. You have had many nights like this, so many in fact, that you have developed a routine; tug on a shirt, sneak out of your room in your panties and said shirt, pour yourself a glass of wine, and find something to busy yourself with in the kitchen, all while being silent enough as not to rouse your lover. 

It’s proven to work pretty well, the wine lulling you to sleep quickly enough that you are able to climb back into bed before sunrise, only to wake back up later that morning to cut a slice of whatever fresh pastry you had busied yourself with making while the wine was settling. Which is why you find yourself here now, quietly opening cabinets on your tippy-toes and pulling out ingredients to bake an apple pie. 

It’s one of your shared favorites between you and Ezra, the memory of your first date coming to mind. His plan had been to take you out to a nice new restaurant that had just opened up in your town. Ever the gentleman, he picked you up at 7:00 on the dot in his nice button-up and slacks.

You had been donned in one of your favorite cocktail dresses - navy blue with tiny black sparkles decorating the bottom, and a pair of black heels to match. The two of you had been friends for a while, but you had still been nervous to make the right impression and had tried on about four dresses before forcing yourself to wait at the door.

All doubt had been lifted, however, when you saw Ezra's jaw drop just slightly as you stepped out onto the front porch. The pure lust and adoration in his eyes had been enough to make you blush a bright shade of red, and you recall him doing his best to hold in a chuckle at your reaction. 

Everything had gone smoothly after that until you reached the restaurant—which had apparently closed for the night due to pipe troubles, and not called to cancel reservations. You could tell that Ezra had been a little disappointed because he wanted to be able to take you somewhere nice, but he didn't let it ruin the night, and neither did you. 

After reassuring him that all you really cared about was spending time with him, you went back to your place and baked an apple pie—because that was the only thing you actually had all the ingredients for— in your fancy clothes and all. Looking back, you can't imagine how the night could have been any better. 

***

He had only been on earth for a few years then, and you have been together ever since. He had asked you to move in with him about a few months after that, and you jumped at the opportunity, both of you already knowing what you wanted.

Caught up in your fantasy land of memories, you failed to hear the man in question sneak up and lean, hand in his pocket, against the doorframe. Blissfully unaware, you were in your element, and Ezra found himself unable to move from the spot he had settled in once he spotted you. 

You are flitting silently around the kitchen, an absentminded smile adorning your features, finishing rolling out a wad of dough. You look so damn sexy in his t-shirt, your lacy black panties peeking out from under the hem every time you reach your arm up to swipe a stray hair from your face with the back of your hand. 

His lips part and he feels his cock twitch when you bend down to pull a tin from a lower cabinet, giving him a perfect view of your ass. He has to suppress a groan and it takes everything in him to not jump your bones right this moment. 

***

You sigh as you finally finish rolling the dough out, bending down to grab a pie tin from the cabinet beneath you. You set it down and take a sip of your wine before starting to shape the dough in the tin, using a fork to press the edges down. 

Once satisfied with the way the crust lays, you reach to the stove beside you and grab the pot that holds the simmering apples. You give it a quick stir with a wooden spoon before beginning to scoop them into the dough-covered tin. 

When all the contents are in place, you set the pot back down and reach for the rest of the dough, only to be stopped when you feel a strong arm wrap around your middle. You yelp in surprise and have to steady yourself so as to not flip your halfway-done pie off of the counter.

“Fuck, Ezra!” You exclaim as you quickly realize what happened. You hear him chuckle darkly behind you before he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Sorry, little dove,” he says between kisses, “It was not my intention to startle you.” Though his words are apologetic, you can hear—and feel—the smirk on his lips, and you know that he has absolutely no regrets about sneaking up on you.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you grab his hand and pull it away from your torso, spinning around to face him in his loose grasp. He must see the slightly guilty look mixed in with the loving gaze you meet him with because he frowns when he realizes that you probably think that you woke him.

“Don't worry your pretty head now, birdie,” he says, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, which you lean into. “You did not rouse me, I woke with a dry mouth, I simply desired a glass of water before I noticed you missing from our bed.

You smile with relief to know that you didn't interrupt his peace, feeling a bit better about him being awake. He seems to be in a good mood, and when you look into his eyes, you see no trace of tiredness or stress. There are rare moments when you feel like you have Ezra completely to yourself, without having to share with the burdens of his past, and this is one of them. You lean into him, placing another soft kiss to his lips.

“I'm making an apple pie,” you state the obvious, unsure of what else to say. You almost laugh at the comment, and you can see Ezra trying to hold in his own chuckle. Out of all the things you could have said… 

“I’ll pour you a glass,” you say, breaking away and reaching for the wine on the island behind him. He says nothing but you can feel his gaze follow you as you pad across the kitchen to get another glass from a high cupboard. As you reach up for the handle, you hear Ezra’s breath hitch from behind you, and you smirk, realizing you must be giving him quite the show right now. You wiggle your butt a little as you grasp the glass and close the cabinet back. 

With your back still to him, you set the glass down and pick up the wine bottle, plucking out the cork and pouring a good bit into the goblet. Ezra is still glued to the spot you left him in so you bring his glass over and set it on the counter next to him, looking innocently up into his eyes as though you hadn’t been practically waving your ass in his face thirty seconds ago.

You can see the warning in his gaze as his eyes darken with lust, sending a wave of arousal to your core, but you pretend to ignore it as you bend around him to grab your own half-full glass, once again giving him a full view of your panties. You know it's not the best idea, but it was too enticing to pass up. 

As you straighten, you feel his hand deliver a swat to your behind, once again making you yelp. You jump up and shoot a look at him, which he reciprocates by raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you. You are not one to roll over and show your belly at the slightest show of dominance, so you silently accept his challenge.

You stare at each other in silence for a moment before you decide to continue your task, grabbing the remaining dough and the rolling pin. As you work, Ezra grabs his wine and leans against the counter beside you, seemingly deciding to truce for now. 

You can feel the tension in the air, both of you holding a silent competition, seeing who will be able to resist the other the longest. It takes all of your willpower to not give in, your panties sticking to your now-slick cunt a constant reminder of that. The ever-growing tent in Ezra’s pants makes you feel a little better about it though, knowing that he is stuck in the same dilemma. 

You make an effort not to look his way, knowing you wouldn’t be able to restrain yourself from giving in if you were met with his hungry gaze again. You force yourself to focus on rolling out the dough to an even consistency in order to distract yourself from the growing need to turn around and beg Ezra to bend you over the counter right this second. 

He sounds so fucking pretty when he has his cock inside of you, and the thought alone is enough to have you biting down on your lip to suppress a moan. You are pulled from your thoughts when you see Ezra shift out of your peripheral, probably to refill his glass. That theory is proven wrong, however, when you feel his hand snake around your neck to grasp at your cheeks, covering your mouth and effectively muffling your sounds of protest as he pulls you back into his chest. 

You gasp behind his palm as you feel the firm outline of his cock against the small of your back, already rock hard from your previous teasing. He says nothing as he rubs against you, seeking friction and making you bite down on a whimper. 

“F-fuck, Ez,” your words are almost incoherent behind his hand, but you feel him smile into your hair at the way they tumble from your lips, already desperate to have him close to you—to have him inside of you. Your stubbornness makes it hard to give in, but you decide to let him take the lead for tonight, and he knows that. 

You gasp as he tightens his grip and spins you around to face him, you can see the insatiable look in his eyes as he slowly trails his hand down to wrap around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make your mouth drop open in a gasp. He says nothing yet, but the way his eyes rake over your figure makes you shiver, his pupils take over the chocolate irises almost completely. 

When nothing progresses, you stand on your toes to try to capture his lips with your own, but he leans away just enough, his hand still firm around your neck. You give him a confused look, but he obviously has no intention of answering your silent question, instead choosing to let his hand fall to your shoulder. 

“On your knees, Dove,” he says with a smile, giving you a slight push. His voice alone is enough to make your weeping core clench around nothing, and you find your body following his order before you can even think about denying him. You let your knees hit the floor and you look up at him through your lashes, the only other option being to stare directly at the prominent outline of his cock right in front of you. 

As he locks his gaze with yours, your face flushes red and he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, smoothing his thumb over the heated skin. You open your mouth to ask him what he wants, but he takes the opportunity to slide his thumb into your mouth, effectively silencing you as you suck on the digit. The groan Ezra lets out is absolutely sinful, making you smile around him. 

“Go on, birdie,” he says, voice straining to sound level as he feels you swirl your tongue around the tip of his thumb. “Be a good little girl and take my cock out.” His voice sounds much deeper in his lust-drunken haze and you think to yourself that you would do anything he asks of you as long as he says it like that.

Your clit throbs at his words and you frantically bring your hands up to tug his sweatpants down enough to free his weeping cock and heavy balls. The sight makes your mouth water, causing Ezra to squeeze his eyes shut when he feels the wetness pooling around his thumb. 

“You want my cock in that tight little pussy, don’t you, you hungry little thing?” he asks, taking his thumb from between your lips. With your mouth free, you moan at the thought of having him stretch you out on his girthy length, filling you up in the most delicious ways only he can manage to do. 

“Yes Ez, I want it so bad,” you say, trying to hold your composure. “I want your fucking cock so bad.” You hear him chuckle tauntingly above you, but your eyes are now transfixed to his throbbing dick, unable to look away. 

“Is that so, sweet thing?” he asks with mock sympathy that would bring you to your knees if you weren't on them already. “Show me how bad, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” With his signal, you finally take his cock in hand, rubbing your thumb over the precum beaded at the tip before fisting him a couple of times, spreading the wetness down the entire length. Ezra groans above you and moves his hand to thread his fingers through your hair, trying to find some stability.

You smile as you lean forward, licking up the underside of his cock, right over the vein that runs from tip to base. When your tongue finds his slit again, you take his tip into the hot cavern of your mouth, making Ezra groan and buck toward you. You have to lean away from him in order to keep his cock from slipping all the way in, if he wants to be in charge, he's going to at least have to be patient. 

You can feel yourself growing wetter every time you elicit a sound from Ezra, the moans tumbling from his lips bordering on whines. The feel of his velvety skin sliding across your tongue is enough to make you whimper around him, both of your filthy sounds filling the moonlit kitchen. 

“Fuck, baby,” Ezra pants out, “doing so good sucking my cock like that, so f-fucking good…” His praise encourages you to take him deeper, letting him slide down your throat until you feel him hit the back of it, making you choke on his length. 

You moan around him as you feel your wetness begin to soak through your panties, your hips bucking for friction at the way the fabric clings to your cunt. Ezra sees your struggle and laughs tauntingly at you, eliciting an annoyed glare from you, though it's not very convincing. You move to pull your mouth away from him, but he knows you too well and uses his palm to keep you on his length, pushing you to him with a light pressure. 

“Aw, you poor, little thing,” he says with mock sympathy. “You started this with your teasing, and I'm not going to touch that pretty little cunt until you can convince me you are going to be a good girl for me.” He continues pushing you onto his cock as he talks to you, knowing that you will tap his thigh if it becomes too much. He picks up his pace after a few more seconds, pistoning his hips to chase the pleasure hidden within the warm cavern of your mouth.

You cry out at his words and look up at him with teary eyes. You know that he means it, this isn't the first time you have found yourself on your knees after teasing around him a little too much, and—as much as you hate to admit it—it probably won't be the last. The look of pure bliss on his face is almost enough to ignore the throb of your empty core—almost. 

Unable to say anything, you continue to work your tongue around him until you feel the way he starts to twitch and pulse. You know he is close and you bring a hand up to cradle his balls, making him hunch over slightly. Just as he is about to come, he grabs onto your hair and pulls you away with a pained expression. The disappointment written on your face when he looks at you is almost enough to have him coming undone anyway.

He moves his hand from the back of your head to cradle the side of your face as he squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on his breathing. You say nothing as you watch him, confused as to why he didn't let himself come. Unable to help it, you moan when you feel your slick start to drip down your thighs, making Ezra open his eyes to look at you. 

“You did very well, birdie,” he says, wiping a rogue tear from your cheek. “But as much as I would like to indulge in the pleasure of watching you swallow my cum, I believe that feeling you come undone around my cock would easily surpass that.” You don't know if you should laugh or moan at his choice of wording. 

Before you can say anything, he reaches for one of your hands, gently pulling you up, only releasing it to tap on the counter in front of him. You smile as you hop up, spreading your legs and beckoning him towards you. Ezra groans as he lifts the hem of your shirt up, revealing your soaked panties to him. 

“Fuck, birdy, all this from my cock in your mouth?” He looks into your eyes as you smirk and nod your head. At your admittance, he brings his hand around to grab the back of your neck, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. You know that he can taste himself on your tongue as he kisses you hungerly, the thought making you even more aroused. 

“Need you, Ez.” You pull away from him just enough to whisper the words across his lips. Ezra releases your neck and backs away, moving his hand back down to play with the hem of your shirt.

“Need me how, gem?” Ezra asks you with a cocky grin that you would probably want to smack right off of his face if it didn't turn you on so much. He always teases you, making you beg until he finally gives in to your pleading. 

“You know what I want, Ez,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. How long is the bastard going to have you wait this time? The fact that it could be a minute or an hour has you swallowing a lump in your throat—you need release, and you need it soon. 

“I don't think I do, birdie,” he says with mock misunderstanding. “Please, indulge me in your desires.” You ignore him and instead take your shirt out of his grasp, pulling it over your head to reveal your bare chest. You think it almost works for a second when Ezra's tongue darts out to wet his lips, his pupils blown even wider than before. Obviously, though, you were wrong, because he makes no move to touch you other than planting his palm on your waist. 

“Ezra,” you start to beg. “Please, I need you to touch me.” You look at him with your best puppy-dog eyes and bring your hands up to circle his neck. “You always make me feel so good, only you.” That seems to get to him because he finally starts to inch his fingers down to where you are dripping for him. 

You can't stop the shaky moan that tumbles from your lips as Ezra cups your wet heat, grinding his palm onto your clit ever so slightly. Your hands unravel from his neck and find purchase on his shoulders, grounding yourself so you don't buck your hips and fall off the counter. 

“P-please, Ez, I need it so bad,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. “I know, birdie, I've got you, I'm going to make you feel good,” Ezra tells you in response. He brings his hand to one side of your panties and you bring your hand to the other, both of you working to tug them down your legs as you lift your hips up. 

You are now completely bare in front of him and he takes a step back, smirking as he admires the view. Neither of you say anything for a moment as he takes you in, his eyes lingering on your chest before he closes the gap again. This time, his mouth goes straight to one of your breasts, lips wrapping around your nipple, his tongue immediately lapping at the stiffened bud. 

Your hands wrap around his head as he continues his gentle assault, only breaking apart for a moment when he murmurs something about “perfect fucking tits”, which almost makes you giggle. After he seems to have gotten his fill of your breasts, he drops to his knees and spreads your thighs, allowing him a perfect visual of your sopping cunt. 

Just as he moves his head forward, you stop him, looking at him with pleading eyes. You suddenly realize that you don't think you can wait that long to have him inside of you—if he started eating you out right now, he wouldn't stop until you were screaming after multiple orgasms. You want him now. 

“Ezra, please, I need you inside me,” you say it so frantically that it's almost embarrassing, but you ramble on all the same. “Can't wait for you, please.” 

“Are you sure, gem?” he asks, starting to stand up. “You know how much I love to taste you, there is truly nothing sweeter than the nectar you release for me.” He playfully tries to convince you otherwise, secretly loving the desperate look in your eyes he knows he put there. 

“Yes, Ez, im sure,” you cut yourself off as you grasp his t-shirt, bringing him in for another searing kiss. You can feel him smile against your lips as his hand falls back down, pulling the front of his sweats down to reveal his cock once again. When you pull away, you sneak a look and your jaw drops at how hard he is—that has got to be painful. His tip is red and weeping, precum dribbling down his shaft. 

Much to your dismay, you moan at the sight, your mind completely overcome by the need for him to be inside of you. When you look back up, you blush when you see Ezra staring at you with an amused look. 

“Like what you see, little bird?” he asks playfully. Your body seems to have a mind of its own as you feel yourself nod and scoot your hips up, trying to reach him subconsciously. He only chuckles as he wraps his hand around himself, lining his tip up to your entrance. 

“You’re sure you don't want me to warm you up, sweet thing?” he asks, worry marring his features for a moment—even he knows he won't be the easiest thing to take without some help. You almost melt on the spot, he can be so sweet, always making sure you are comfortable with what's happening, even if you are the one who had quite literally begged him for it. 

“I'm sure, Ez,” you say, little does he know, you look forward to the stretch. You have always liked a little bit of pain with your pleasure. With your confirmation he pushes forward, his eyes squeezing shut as his mouth drops open in a silent groan. 

“Fuck, birdie,” he says with bated breath. “You feel so divine, always so tight, squeezing the life out of my cock.” He is only about half of the way in, and every time he thrusts, it feels like it should be the end, but it just keeps coming. Your breath is stolen from you when he finally bottoms out, his tip already kissing your g-spot. 

“F-fuck,” is the only thing you can get out as you let your head fall to his shoulder. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to get used to his size. Only when you start to buck your hips does he begin to thrust again, bringing his length almost all the way out before slamming back in, effectively making you scream. 

The power of the movement sends you back and you cling to him so you don't hit the wall behind you. The kitchen once again fills with the sounds of your moans and Ezra's grunts as the two of you set a steady rhythm against each other. You bring your arms back, letting one hand land on Ezra's side, and the other goes under his arm to claw at his back.

You can already feel the bruises forming from Ezra's death grip on your hip, and you're sure he feels the same where your fingertips are digging into his flesh. As Ezra whispers sweet praise into your ear, you leave open-mouthed kisses on his neck, your saliva starting to coat the skin there. 

“Oh, gods, Ezra,” you moan as you pull your lips away from him. You let your gaze drift downward to watch his cock being shoved into your pussy, coming back out coated with your slick. The sights spurs you on and you look up at Ezra, bringing the hand that was on his hip up to grasp his chin and pull, making him look at where you connect. 

You can feel your orgasm quickly approaching, the wire threatening to snap when you hear Ezra fucking whine as he looks where you want him to. After he is able to break his gaze away from the sight, he looks back up at your face and leans in to capture your lips with his. 

“Are you fucking trying to get me to come early, you naughty girl?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye. “Like some fucking teenager, unable to pleasure their recipient, huh?” he slams his hips with his last word, bringing you over the edge. He continues berating you as you convulse around him, going slack against him. 

“Making me look at how good that pretty little pussy takes me in, how much she looks like she was made just for my cock.” Ezra’s filthy words quickly bring you to the edge once again, his pace never slowing as you immediately approach your second orgasm. 

“Go on, sweet thing, touch yourself for me,” he demands. “I know you're close, rub that little clit, I know you want to.” Your fingers find your bundle of nerves before you even realize you moved, your brain too fucked-out to understand what's going on at this point. Ezra must see your surprise because he chuckles darkly, you see his chest rumble through your half-lidded eyes.

“P-poor little bird, already cock dumb and I've only—fuck—only made you come once,” he teases you and you can feel his cock twitch, his words having an effect on both of you. You're lucky he talks so much because you have officially found yourself speechless. Suddenly, you remember what you were supposed to be doing before he so rudely interrupted you. 

You know you are about ready to break any second now, so when you let your fingers graze your clit, you immediately fall apart. You scream as a white-hot pleasure takes its course through your entire body, a feeling you have only felt a handful of times in your life. Your eyes widen as you understand what is happening. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” you practically yell the words as you feel Ezra being pushed out of you, the force of your orgasm leaving no room for him. It must be perfect timing though, because Ezra doesn't try to push back in, instead, he pulls all the way out and starts to jerk himself off above you. You are still circling your clit, riding your release out as he starts to throb in his own hand, the image of you soaking his cock triggering his own orgasm. 

“F-fuck, birdy,” he says, his voice strained. “Look so—oh shit—look so good squirting for me, drenching my dick like a good l-little girl.” As the last word leaves his mouth, he begins to come, his spend splattering across your bare stomach and onto the countertop to the right of you. Normally, you would fuss about the mess, but right now, you are far too blissed out to give a fuck. 

Ezra leans forward as he finishes, both of your sweaty bodies collapsing onto each other, breathing heavily. If the countertop wasn't so cold against your ass, you would probably fall asleep there—you're tempted to ignore the cold and drift off anyway. Before you are given the choice, however, your eyes snap open at the sound of Ezra's sudden chuckles in your ear. You jolt upright and push him back, he is in absolute hysterics now and you have to look down to make sure you don't look stupid before looking back at him. 

“Ez, what the fuck is the deal w-” you are cut off as you look to your right. Sitting right next to you is your half-done pie… your cum-coated, half-done pie. You try, you really do try to hold your giggles in, but the bastard wiping the tears from his eyes right in front of you makes that an impossible feat, so you reluctantly join in. 

“Ezra, you fucking dick,” you scold him between giggles, “You came in my fucking pie!” The sentence sounds so ridiculous that it sends you both into a whole new fit of laughter. At this point, Ezra is doubled over and he has to walk back over to you to stay standing. After you both catch your breath, you look back up at him, trying not to laugh again as a new thought pops up into your head.

“Well, Ez,” you start, trying to hold your outburst. “Guess you’ll get to see me swallow your cum anyway.”  Yeah, there was no way you didn't lose it after that one—it's going to be a long, side-stitching night. 

[comesitintheclover]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday 📚📜🖊️

Thank you so much for the tag @bookish-bogwitch! your chart is awesome!

I will remember to try that/ a similar thing if I keep having issues with this fic I'm writing (but I should at least try to slog through a first draft of my trouble chapters first - i just get so anxious that I will fuck up the funny-conflict and make it miserable or something when it's 'perfect' (but vague af) in my brain and has been that way for 4 years...).

And thank you everyone who has tagged me in the last months/year <3 @nausikaaa, @ileadacharmedlife, @monbons, @supercutedinosaurs, @brendughh, @rimeswithpurple, and anyone else if I missed you because my tumblr notifs won't go that far back 😭💗💞💖 I love you all! Thank you for including me in the community even when I haven't been writing for a while! It's been so inspiring seeing what you all have been up to and I've finally started writing again so yay!

My goal is to finish this fic I've been writing for four years (i've written what I'm estimating is 50k words freehand and am transcribing and editing them onto my laptop and I still need to write the other half ... hahahaha 😅. But I love it. ) called *The Long Summer*, within a month (the first draft at least, I'll come back and edit it at a later date. I want to post it on ao3 over a summer so hopefully I will be ready next summer! I need to write it while I still love it!), and then I want to write the first draft of an original story for a month or so/NaNoWriMo, and then I will pick one of my Carry On WIPs to work on (hopefully just in time to celebrate snowbaz's anniversary!)

(The Carry On WIPs in question: I'm thinking I will probably pick my soulmate au fic called Meet the Parents/When You're an Adult You'll Understand, or a trans au called Fraternity house, orrrrr this magical Agony-Aunt fic called Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s 10 Step Plan for Getting Over*(letting himself be in love with) Simon Snow ).

And I'm planning to interact more with wip-wednesdays and six-sentence-sundays from now on to keep me motivated and accountable! (hopefully this works, battling my motivation is like trying to wrestle a fish or something... i'm constantly at a loss with my brain - oh why won't I do things that I love and have time to do??)

....Oh and I want to make some Carry On animations.... (this is probably why I don't do things... Too ideas many and hard to pick. I tried to make a schedule last night that included everything I wanted to do in a day and it was 35 hours long... oops).

*The Long Summer* is a harry potter fic, and since I know all of you lovely people from Carry On, and I know lots of people avoid hp stuff for obvious reasons (JKR is wrong! Trans liberation now!), I will keep the rest of this under the cut <3

here are the first six sentences from my 💗beloved fic💗:

Ron Weasley wasn't an introspective soul. By the time something actually rolled around to happening he would probably have had twelve chances to predict it, if he was Hermione. He presumed something like this would never have happened to Hermione. Summers were probably a lot more quiet in the Muggle world, as an only child, with parents who weren’t - well Hermione was so smart she probably already knew, no there was really no reason to write to her. And Harry - well he didn't want to write to Harry about it either.  Honestly, it would probably be better if he never found out.

(I wrote these when I was 16 and they may need editing but that's for future me to worry about - rn I'm trying to push out a first draft as fast as possible...)

Thank you to anyone who read this far!

Hi!'s, tags, and hand-hearts to everybody 🫶 @stitchy-queerista, @umdiasujo, @carpeosculum, and open tag to anyone who wants to be tagged! <3

[faceyourphobia]

¡Introduction¡

Last Edited: 9/5/24 ¡Disclaimer¡ This is my main blog, with my update/WIP blog being @phobiasupdates

¡Basic Info¡

Name: Phobias/Fears

(Do NOT call me Phoébi without asking)

Pronouns: He/They/She/It

DNIs: Pedophiles. Zoophiles.

¡Asks and Inbox are open¡

(More Below Cut)

What is the purpose of this blog?

This is my main blog, so you’ll probably see reblogs, random asks, and the occasional rambling posts.

¡Extra, Extra Info¡

Update/WIP Blog: @phobiasupdates

Ao3: FaceYourPhobia

Discord: Fear.0.Phobia OR Fearophobia

¡Fun Facts¡

I’m chronically sick and/or unwell

My only hobby is writing/words

I love cats and photography (Pls send)

I have BPD (Officially diagnosed)

I have bad maintenance insomnia

And I have a bombay cat

¡To be updated at a later date¡

(Please send stuff to decorate this, it’s so plain)

[teecupangel]

Writing this as my pinned post since I have a bit of free time anyway.

Introduction:

Hi. You can call me teecup or angel. This is primarily my AC and writing tumblr blog.

I post my fics in AO3 as teecup_angel.

I also have this tumblr blog that’s mostly me reblogging other stuff and very rarely I post something personal, I guess.

I have a twitter too but I haven’t used it in… I wanna say nearing a year? Maybe??? Yeeaaahhhh…

I’m currently writing fics for Assassin’s Creed and my primary focus is Desmond Miles because he deserves better.

Warnings:

I will pair Desmond with anyone (and I mean anyone) and my OTP is AltDes. I also do write gen so if you want to look at my tumblr but you don’t ship Desmond with any of his ancestors, I suggest blocking the following tags (altdes, ezides, condes, haydes, eddes). I also use those tags even when it’s just hinted at just to be safe.

While I cannot stop any minor from looking at this blog, please note that this may contain nsfw posts and I curse like a repressed catholic who was not allowed to curse when they were young. Also, I use 'dumbass' affectionately.

For Asks and Requests:

My ask box is open for nonnies and I try to answer every ask I get unless they specify that they want to keep it private.

Also, if you left me a suggestion or request in AO3, I do try to keep notes of them.

If you do request something or just leave me a plot idea, the most you’ll get from me would be a rambling of how it could work and possible subplots we can add to it. I tend to write whatever strikes my fancy and I’m hesitant in posting too many wips in AO3. Here on tumblr though… short fic and drabbles galore. The only reason why I wouldn’t answer your ask is if I couldn’t get to it in time as I allot a specific time for all asks and reblogs I get. If you don’t see it answered, it only means I’ll get to it next time.

I'm also fine with anyone using any of the posts/fic here or in AO3 to write or draw something as long as the post is linked and I'm informed :)

Also, you can request any crossover ideas with Assassin’s Creed and I’ll find a way to kick Desmond into it. I am a big believer of Desmond is the ultimate isekai protagonist. XD

Concerning the tags of this tumblr:

I got lazy later on in tagging posts I reblog (mostly fanworks from other people) but:

Any ask I answer will have the tag: #ask and answer or #submission for long asks.

Any fic idea I write will have the tag: #teecup writes/has a plot or/and #fic idea: assassin's creed (note: this one usually does not get used for any reblogs with additional ideas so I guess check the reblogs and the replies? This also sometimes does not get used if I'm butting in on other people's posts because it kinda feels wrong to add it? I know I should add a different tag for that but we'll see if I do down the line XD)

Headcanons and analysis (they're sometimes the same???) have #teecup analyze more than necessary and/or #headcanon: assassin's creed

Sometimes I make edits with varying success of humor: #teecup edits (sometimes I do screw up use '#teecup edit' instead XD)

I also draw rarely: #teecup draws

AO3 Stuff:

At the moment (and this part will be updated if necessary), the following have a weekly Monday update:

Eagle of Alamut (Desmond gets thrown back to 12th century Jerusalem in his 16-year-old body, endgame: AltDes)

I also sometimes suddenly post sometimes 2 or 3 more fics all at the same time and it’s kinda my modus operandi to 'coincide' it with important AC dates.

(Also, for those asking me if I need a beta, yeah, most probably but then I would be obligated to remove the "No Beta We Die Like Desmond" tag and the tag is too funny for me to give it up. XD I'd appreciate any comments that tell me if I've written something wrong though, especially the non-English words I sometimes use.)

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #1

[Masterlist]

Prompt from @stealingyourbones found here

"Valerie in Metropolis chews out Superboy for using her car as a projectile to hit a villain."

===============•‹«⟨·⟩»›•===============

Valerie wasn't aware that part of being a hero meant using the possessions of those you were protecting to fight the beings you were protecting them from. In fact, she's pretty sure it wasn't. Sure, she's not always been on the right side of the fight, herself, but she's gotten better! And besides, unlike someone she could name, she's never used a stranger's car as a weapon before!

"OI! You jerk! Did you have to throw my car?! Don't you have freaking laser vision, you idiot!?" Val yelled at Superboy Sr, who was levitating just above the intersection a few feet away from her.

Superboy glared incredulously at her over his shoulder, which, first of all, rude, she should be glaring at him, not the other way around. Second of all, she has every right to be upset about this, how he can be incredulously doing anything in response to that fact is, quite frankly, stupid.

"You call that a car? Honey, fuzzy dice are so 50s, and what was with the white wall tires? I was doing that dated hunk of junk a favor." Oh. Oh he did not. He. Did. Not.

"That 'dated hunk of junk', as you called it, was my grandfather's. It was a feta HEIRLOOM, you—you cheese curd! You leftover piece of string cheese! If you think you're gonna get out of this scott free, then buddy, you've got another thing coming! It may have been on its last legs, but that thing was, quite literally, my only reliable mode of transportation in this gouda forsaken place. 'Moby Dick'! Do you just casually destroy private property every time you fight some ne'er-do-well? How the 'Flygirl' you manage to get away with frequent property damage I'll never know, but—" who knew cussing out a superhero in the middle of battle was so hard to do? She had to up her cardio next time to went to the gym, this was unacceptable.

Superboy glanced at her again and rolled his eyes, dodging out of the way of a different thrown car before replying. "Look, as much as I'd love to hear you go on, I'm kind of busy at the moment, can we talk about this later? If you're really that torn up over the antique rust bucket, I'll make it up to you. Alright?"

Val narrowed her eyes at him as she ducked under a chunk of flying rubble. "You better. In fact, to make sure you don't get to get out of this, I'm going to stay right on your tail the rest of this fight. You try to lose me, I take you to court. Now will you stop dancing around this quack?! Just finish him already!"

===•‹«⟨·⟩»›•===

Incoming message

From: The Konman

Hey, question. Could you, theoretically, lend me some money for a car?

From: Third Tim's the Charm

... is this about that chick whose car you threw instead of using your heat vision earlier?

From: The Konman

Oh no, I am not losing that bet, I can totally go a full week without melting things with my eyes.

From: Third Tim's the Charm

... I'll see what I can do.

From: The Konman

You're the best ^⁠_⁠^

===============•‹«⟨·⟩»›•===============

Credit: "The Konman" is from the amazing chat fic "Crime, Love, and Ghosts. (And other, Probably)" by Thornrose270 on AO3, I highly recommend reading it ^⁠_⁠^

There's no specific make or model mentioned because, while I am an appreciator of cars, I do not want to make any more waves in the car enthusiast community than I might have already, what with my comments on fuzzy dice and white wall tires (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

Also, on Val's use of cheese and literature as stand-in cuss words. Kids emulate the language used around them as they grow up ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠⊙⁠_⁠ʖ⁠⊙⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ also, I really wanted to use some cheese related cuss words (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)

I may or may not come back later and edit this, there was no beta reader and I barely know how to write Val or Kon, so there's probably lots of mistakes (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠) but hopefully it's not too bad? *fingers crossed*

[sparrowsfallingfromthesky]

In case anyone else was curious, these are all* the names people have given Trent Crimm’s daughter in fanfiction**:

*unless I've missed any **on ao3 as of November 7, 2022 [updates below]

Seraphina/Sera

Emma

Evelyn/Evie

Georgie/Georgina/Georgiana

Leith

Katie

Amina

Genevieve

Sophie

Lola

Mia

Sara

Maisie

Rose/Rosie

Amanda

Olivia

Poppy

Mella

Annalise

Imogen

Samantha

Maud

Edie

Ruby

Annabelle

Willow

Lucy

Maggie [could be nickname for Margaret which will show up later]

Beatrice/Bea

Joanie

Ellie/Eleanor/Elle [later variation: Nellie]

Deliah

Freya

Cressida/Cressy/Chrissy/Cress/Chris (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Ching-ling)

Drew

Alice

Ophelia/Ofelia/Feeli (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Clementine)

Lizzie/Elizabeth (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Tabitha [later addition: another fic has the middle name Jessminder])

Adelaide/Addy

Tabitha/Tabby

Charlotte

Madeleine/Maddy [later variation: Madelyn]

Mabel

Tessa

Clementine

Anna

Khadija

Kendall

Penelope/Penny [later addition: one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Rose]

Simone/Simi

Amelia/Emilia

Rowan

Pia

Lily

Addison

Emily

Octavia

Isabel/Izzy [later variation: Isobel/Issy]

Violet

Kieran

Freddie

Estelle/Estie

Miranda

Flora

Olive

Sibyl

Winifred

Camille

Megan

Jemima

Eloise

Malia

Mina

Isla

Emmeline/Emmy (middle name Nicola)

Thea

Cassie

Some fun facts: - This list is not quite in order of when the first usages of these names appeared, but it's pretty close. - Assuming I caught everything and did the math correctly, Trent's daughter has been mentioned by name in 192 fics! For reference, Trent has been tagged as a character in 395 and does not actually appear in some of those, so she's really named in over 49% of the fics he's in. - Of the approximately 77(!) names used, ~33 have been used in multiple fics (including several series), and ~21 of those have been used by multiple different authors. - Seraphina and Georgie are tied for most usages (18 each) but when it comes to usages by the most authors, Seraphina (probably unsurprisingly, given how many people have been inspired by a kind of dwell and welcome) wins in a landslide with 15.

EDIT March 14 2023 I don't feel like updating the math but here are the new names that have been used since I originally posted this:

Ivy

Rosa

Clara

Eliora Eli Asher (nonbinary in this one)

Persephone

Agatha

Sadia

Lottie [could be a nickname for Charlotte (already on the list) but not necessarily and not clarified as such]

Mira

Karime

Lydia

Billie Rose

One more day to season 3, can't wait to see if we get a confirmed name! Either way, it's been fun <3

EDIT April/May 2023 to add:

Isadora

Molly

Darla

Patricia/Trish

Amaya

Ella

Meg/Margaret

Charlie [again I'm assuming this is a nickname for Charlotte but that's not stated]

Eliza [Could be standalone name or could be nickname for Elizabeth]

Carmilla/Millie

Annie [Could be a nickname for a number of other names. EDIT: One of the two fics using this name just revealed it's a nickname for Cordelia Annabel. Not sure how to count this tbh.]

Frances

Emi

Kara

Ingrid

Astrid

Beth [again this is probably a nickname for Elizabeth]

Claire

Maya

Cindy

Harriet

EDIT after the finale aired (this info also added to a reblog):

Well, it seems we're not getting a canon name! I guess she's our daughter now. I haven't decided whether I'm going to maintain this list going forward (though for my own sanity I'm leaning towards no) but at least it's fully up to date as of 7:30 pm est today (May 31, 2023).

Some "final" statistics: The numbers aren’t perfect, because there were a few names I grouped together and probably should have counted separately, and a few names I counted separately and probably should have grouped together, and those may or may not have balanced out, but keeping that in mind, about 110 names were used! About 49 were used in multiple fics (including individual installments in several series) and about 35 of those were used by multiple authors. Trent’s daughter has been mentioned by name in about 298 fics by 149 authors. This includes works in which she’s mentioned but doesn’t show up as a character, but doesn’t account for works in which her existence is mentioned but not by name. Fun fact, about 21 new names were used just while season three was airing!

[quaranmine]

10 Years of Posting Fanfic: A Retrospective

(If you only care about reading my writing from when I was 12, skip to the cut)

I've always enjoyed reading as a kid. I was the kid in class who was reading at a high school level in intermediate school, and the kid who had 8 library books on her desk at a time. Therefore it is no surprise that I quickly realized that I enjoyed writing a lot too.

This post cannot be a look into when I started writing fanfiction though, because frankly I don't remember. Instead, all I have to go off of is the publishing date on my old fanfiction.net profile: December 15, 2013. I'm a little too young for the heyday of Live Journal and other fanfic sites, so ff.net was my first introduction to fanfiction. I also used to use Wattpad now and then, but I never posted anything there. I preferred ff.net, and did not make an AO3 account until 2016.

In middle school and intermediate school, if you asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd tell you I wanted to be a novelist. Of course my actual career went a different direction--I'm now an environmental outreach specialist. But the great news about writing is that it can be done at any time!

Fanfiction.net was also my introduction into the world of fanfic, back when I stumbled onto some Jayfeather Warrior Cats fanfic from a random google search. It took me entirely by suprise to find out that I could actually read more stories about my favorite characters! It was like stumbling into a gold mine. I still remember how thrilled I was. I was instantly hooked, despite being more than a little traumatized by instantly finding a "lemon" and reading about cat sex at probably 11 or 12 years old. Somehow, that did not stop me. I continued to avoid lemons, and developed a huge taste for angst, whump, and hurt/comfort stories. In retrospect, I'm not sure my mom would have viewed reading about torture or suicidal characters as particularly better than smut, but oh well. She never knew.

Throughout middle school and early high school, I was constantly writing. In middle school I had a notebook and used to hand write fanfics and original stories inside. I had two friends who also liked writing, and together we'd spend time developing and editing each other's stories. It's during this time I posted my first stories on FF.net. In high school, my school gave every student a chromebook laptop, and I started writing fanfic in Google Docs on that. I was fearless and had no problems writing angsty anime fanfic in class, on a school-monitored device.

I stopped writing fanfic somewhere in 10th grade, though I never stopped reading it. I stopped writing it primarily because I spent a lot of time writing other things. I was taking college classes. I doing competitive essay writing (I medalled at state) and competitive literary criticism. I was doing art competitions. In 12th grade, I had a job reporting school news to my local newspaper. I wrote op-eds about the environment and dutifully recorded hours of school board meetings to summarize. Then, I was properly off to college, and despite the pandemic hitting a year later I had classes to take online and a part time job outdoors. I had 60 page mock-environmental risk assessments to write. I was too busy to write fiction.

The MCYT fandom is what brought back my desire to write. The creativity of this fandom is so astounding, and I'm grateful all the time that I get to see the things everybody creates. Back in 2021, I no longer felt like I just wanted to read. I felt restless again, so I started writing a DSMP story about clingyduo at the disc war finale. I scrapped this, but it set things into motion again. In the summer of 2021 I posted my first two fanfics in years. I received such good feedback. By kudos, NWNF is my most popular fic on the site, and The Babysitting Game is still 4th most popular. I'm super grateful for that, and I'm grateful for everybody here who reads my stories. I still can't really comprehend that I post things that people actually read now. I save so many of your comments to keep for later.

I'll stop reviewing my history of writing here. You guys know the rest. I wrote HC, Evo, ESMP, and Life series oneshots. I wrote my first long fic, and then smashed that record by writing another longer one that I'm less than two chapters away from finishing. It's been a huge amount of fun and the improvements I've made in two years of active writing is super encouraging.

If I've made this much progress in 10 years, who's to say what I could do in 10 more years? I really look forward to it.

Anyway, the sappy stuff aside, who wants to read the story I wrote when I was 12? I'll post it below the cut in its entirety, no matter how much psychic damage it dealt me. It's Doctor Who, because of course it is. It always goes back to Doctor Who with me :)

From the TARDIS Files--A One-Shot Book

by: crazykatz430 <- I used to go by this everywhere

Description: This is a book of drabbles and one shots-nothing long will be found here, and it will not be updated frequently. Chapters will often have more than one short story in it. Rated T because I'm paranoid, don't know about what I'll end up writing in future chapters. All that said, enjoy! EDIT: CANCELLED

Published: 2013-12-15

Words: 1196

Rated: Fiction T - Language: English - Genre: Humor/Adventure -

Characters: 11th Doctor, Clara O. - Reviews: 4 - Follows: 1

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

A/N: Okay, so this is a collection of four short (I mean SHORT) oneshots I wrote, most of them just drabbles. So far, this will be just a fic to update when I write more short oneshots in the freewrites on my English Class.

Disclaimer: I don't own DW but if I did… <- oh the early days back when we were all sticking disclaimers on things but not knowing why

There will be a linbreak for new oneshots, and a cat symbol (crazyKATZ430..it's in the name) for the time skips or point of view changes..

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Without further ado, I present: Geronimo , Uploaded , The Forgotten , and Cemetery Nightmares .

Geronimo

Set: The Wedding of River Song

I don't know what to say. All my secrets, fears and enemies, they've all caught up to me. I've run too far, run for too long.

The prophecy states that silence will fall when the question is asked. The first question, the oldest and most important question. I do not know what the question is nor do I want to find out, for the silence that falls will be the silence of my death.

I do not want to do die here, at Lake Silencio, Utah, but it is a fixed point. It will always happen no matter how far or long I run from it. I don't want to die alone… don't want to make my love do it.

I have made a plan, one to hopefully save my life and the earth. Everyone will think I am dead, but it will be safer. They'll be safer from me.

Geronimo!

Now I know what to say, the same thing I've always said when adventure and danger and the unknown ensued…

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Uploaded

Set: The wi-fi's first victim ;

"Where am I?" I whispered, scared. "Hello?"

I looked around myself, studying the surroundings. It was all strange to me, I'd n idea where I was.

I felt panic rising in my chest. "I don't know where I am!" I shrieked, becoming ever more terrified. "Somebody, please, help me! Where am I, I don't know where I am!"

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

I raced around the room looking for a way out of what appeared to be someone's bedroom. I gave a cry when I couldn't get out and I subconsciously returned to the computer. "Help me!" I screamed infrustration and fear, my heart racing as panic took over my body. "I don't know where I am!"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The wi-fi had taken its first victim.

The uploading had begun.

The Forgotten

Set: hmm… can't remember. Strange.

I was alone in a cold, dark room, no other living thing in sight.

I can't remember what I've forgotten. But if I can't remember what I've forgotten, then how do I know I forgot something?

But I wasn't alone.

How did I know that? There was nothing visible..yet I felt there was another creature in the room.

Sudden pure, unexplainable terror washed over me. I yanked the sleeve of my shirt down and stared at the underside of my arm. One fresh, black tally mark marred my skin.

The panic reached its heighth and I dropped into a defensive postureautomatically. I didn't know why, it felt like I was forgetting something… I was confused and terrified.

A second crisp tally mark appeared on my arm, closely followed by three more. A full set. But why?

Fifteen or more sets of five tally marks were tattooed on my arm.

Wordlessly I pulled down my right sleeve. What I saw there cause me to scream in fright and drop to the ground.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Doctor who?

Silence will fall when the question is asked. The first question, the oldest question…

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Cemetery Nightmares

Set: New York City, 1950 (set in New York City; however, the

character is British)

The statue had moved. It had really, properly moved!

Eagerly, I lifted my camera to take a picture. "Moving Statues in City Cemetery"? Sounded like a story to me! My editor always thought my stories were rubbish, but I begged to differ. Maybe he's let me print something with proof.

Curiosity killed the cat. This statue could be dangerous, what did I know of it? I smiled as I recalled the second part to the phrase. But satisfaction brought it back. Making up my mind, I held up the camera and clicked a picture.

I waited for it to move again, but it did not. Was it my eyes? No, I'd had two cups of heavily caffeinated tea this morning, you don't start seeing things untill the third day without sleep, I still had a day to go.

I huffed and sighed, closing my eyes. Why must good stories always slip way like this? Or was I just being too impatient?

Either way, I got a shock from when I reopened my eyes. The same stone figure, who seemed to be an angel statue, had moved again, closer to me. I didn't know if I should be happy for more evidence or scared because the hand seemed to be seemed to be reaching out to me…

I blinked again. A small cry escaped my lips as I noted it was closer. Was it all just some sick game? I was the only one in the cemetery though so that option was out of the question. Either way, the expression on the face of the angel now was frightening me. I decided it was best to leave.

I turned to walk back to my car, but on a whim turned to look back again. The statue had moved again, probably 15 meters in a few seconds! I began to tremble. It was like straight out of a horror movie! I just wanted to get away, to get home and out of this creepy place!

Then I made the mistake, my fatal mistake. My eyes began to burn and I blinked, a simple movement. But when I reopened my eyes I stood in a place far more different from where I'd been.

I was somewhere else! It was impossible, the city, cemetery and creepy angel statue were gone too! But where was I? I set out to find someone about what had turned into a nightmare for me. A cemetery nightmare.

The image of an angel becomes an angel.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

One bright red vintage camera lay on the ground, on button switched. The last picture it had taken displayed out from the screen. A seemly harmless picture of an angel statue, taken a minute before the camera's owner was whisked away.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

A/N: There you go, three short oneshots with a fourth that's twice the size of the others! PLease remember to review and say if it was good or not, and have a wonderful day… now that I've given you some stories of dying people. ( Geronimo had no dying but it was pretty intense if I do say so.) And please forgive me, I'm not British so I may tend to overdo some things…

(narrarator voice: she did not, in fact, ever upload another chapter)

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, as soon as I type it up, another's on its way!

[scoops-aboy86]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @steviewashere, wahoo!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

19.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

68,563. 

Which, given that I made the account in January, means I’ve written an average of about 13,713 words a month. 😵‍💫🤓

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Stranger Things exclusively, except for like. That one itty bitty crossover with Good Omens, but that was more of a thought post on here than an actual fic. All Steddie, with occasional dashes of Buckingham or Ronance.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Love Language and Twice Shy are tied for 1st, which is cute. The latter isn’t really wg related and, amusingly, has fewer comments and bookmarks than the former. 

Window, which I swear I will write a part 2 for someday. Probably. I want to, cross my heart, I’m just… easily distracted sometimes. 

Office Baking, which is part of a collab with the lovely @hotluncheddie

All About the Bounce in My Step, another one with a part 2 on my WIPs list. The title came from an AJR song that has… nothing to do with the fic really, it was just one of the first songs I heard on Pandora after I finished editing it and needed a title in order to post.

Kitchen Pig. Perhaps the most, uh… “contains mean comments about someone’s weight” of my fics, purely because Tommy and Carol are involved. I was kind of nervous about posting it. Glad I did though.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try! Sometimes it requires a lot of a particular kind of energy that I don’t already have, but I like to acknowledge that someone took the time to leave me some words, even if my response is just heart emojis or something. 

If you've commented and I haven't responded yet, it's somewhere on my to do list.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uh… The first chapter of Not Dating, for sure, because it was originally intended as a one-shot. Or maybe Twice Shy because one little reassurance (however genuine and however accepted) is definitely not enough to untangle the knot of Steve’s trust issues. Hashtag thanks Nancy. 

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ooh, tough one, because I always go for the happy ending sooner or later. (Even with angst, I crave that sweet sweet resolution.) Maybe Seven Christmases though, because the whole thing is so family focused and caretaking and indulgent all the way through. 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Surprisingly, no. I guess I’m doing a good enough job with easily blockable tags and staying in my lane—by which I mostly mean, if I reblog something that sparks kinky thoughts, I put them in a separate post so the people who see it are mostly those who seek it out. 

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Heh, mostly smut that involves eating too much and getting off to that.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Literally just that one Good Omens post, where rockstar Eddie has brought chubby Steve to The Ritz or something, and Crowley or Aziraphale overhears Eddie calling him "angel" and miracles an extra dish onto their table, as a treat.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. But I don’t lock my ao3 posts, so if they’re being scraped then I guess I am doing my part in making AI weird. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of. That would be kind of cool.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not a ton, but @hotluncheddie and I have written some stuff back and forth, notably Office Baking. 

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Steddie! With additional spaces carved out in my heart for Buckingham, platonic Stobin, and platonic Hellcheer. 

Ronance is alright, I have nothing against it, but in my heart I feel that Nancy has been consistently in one relationship or another since she slept with Steve in the first season. She’s been through a ton since then, grown up a lot, and become an incredibly different person… I just think she needs some time with herself to figure out who that is and what she wants. 

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you will?

Never admit defeat, never surrender. 

I never mean to leave things unfinished, I’m just, yeah. Easily distracted. I also have a full time job, a partner, and seven furry children… It’s a lot to juggle sometimes.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Banging out the tunes story. And then—I read someone describe it this way once, can’t remember when or where—going back over it like a painting and filling in more details, building up the layers until it’s got more texture, like a Van Gogh. Like, when I wrote Trick & Treat, I got most of the way through writing it before going back and working in their costumes. And that became a huge part of the fic! Also, originally I forgot part of the prompt and wrote Steve only getting as far as a downstairs bathroom instead of his bedroom. 

Yes, I know, technically I am just describing editing. But I like thinking of it as adding texture. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Ugh, settings. I’m usually pretty good with dialogue and what the characters are doing, but I really have to think about where they are. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I only know English and the bare minimum of Spanish to get enough credits to graduate high school, so… Some bits of other languages sometimes, like slang that I’ve verified through online research, and I’ll run things back and forth in Google Translate a few times to try and keep it from coming out too garbled, but eh. If it’s extensive I’d probably switch to italics or special brackets to indicate another language, unless the main pov character doesn’t speak it and isn’t intended to know what it means without an in-story translation. 

That’s just what I do, I don’t give a fig what other writers choose to do as long as it’s consistent within each story.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

As a wg kink writer, Stranger Things. In general, I started with the works of one Douglas Adams back in college. 

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oh god, I’m so indecisive… Seven Christmases makes me feel all warm inside, I’m really proud of that one. 

I’ve seen this making the rounds lately and everyone I can think of has probably been tagged already, but… @hotluncheddie @tangerinesteve @pearynice @lingeringmirth, no pressure!

[td-tbbg-official]

How soon will the first chapter drop? And is the story done or a work in progress? Also you’re doing a fantastic job of introducing and making this intriguing it’s like seeing official teasers for the show.

I thought of keeping this ask for Ask Friday, but I think it’s best to answer it now.

First of all, thank you! I’m so glad you like the teasers! :D Now for the realer stuff...

You might not have noticed, but the introduction posts of the blog have been edited to say the fanfic is coming soon and the chapters have been cut from 30 to 26. Initially, I said the release would be in February, then, in spring. Now I’ve pushed the date again - and now, not even to a definitive one! So, you might be wondering: what the heck??

Here’s the thing. I made this blog on a whim, and it may have been a mistake. In hindsight, I should’ve made it when I got much more done, but I wasn’t convinced I’d find the support later rather than sooner, so I opted for making it this month.

TD:TBBG is a work in progress. To be fully honest with you, I only have two chapters done, and those need major editing. Character arcs are far from finished, and I only have about 1/4 of the challenges. As I’ve stated in the Gen 4 teaser post, I’m a busy high school student with two extracurriculars and much more than I want going on in my private life at the moment. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I can’t get much done.

So, now, TD:TBBG is (hopefully) going to be published this year in no specific season. It’s a very... ambitious project. Probably stupidly so, especially for my perfectionist self. I strongly believe in putting out good content and quality over quantity, and I hope you do, too. This is why I hope you can understand.

In the mean time, I will try to keep this blog active with the short stories and teasers promised. In fact, one is sitting in the drafts!

So, yeah, sorry for being the bearer of bad news :( I will try my best to get out the best possible fanfic I can, and do that in my own rhytm. I hope you can understand, and thank you so much for the support! It’s so overwhelmingly good to see all your kind comments and fun reblogs 🥹 I appreciate you all so much 🩷

Geo :3

coming soon to an ao3 near you!